These tales do not take place at the same time, but they all spring from the ripples of one event in the history of Sinanju. No Master of Sinanju, Past or Present will enter them. No pupil of the Master will grace their telling. But Sinanju lies at their heart.

Section 1 - Ancion

Chapter 1 – She Hunts

As darkness fell she slowly began to find her way up a narrow valley into the deep mountains.

Her kind were predators but she was a god, Jaguar. Deified by man of old, her trace left as carvings in the remains of the Mayan empire, she was of a line long forgotten.

Unlike the modern big cats where the male dominates the size of the female, She was half again as large as the current prime male of the species.

The Jaguar was not a man killer, but a man stalker. When man moved through their domain, the Jaguar would shadow their trail.

Man was numerous, they, the Jaguar, were few. Man was deadly, wanted the same space, wanted the same prey. Man was depleting their kind till few were remaining.

The deep Amazon was no longer safe. The hunts drove them from their grounds.

Solitary cats, except when breeding or raising their young, the Jaguar simply lived in their territory.

But now there was on safe territory, only hunters and their pack dogs.

Hiding during day, and moving at night, She, Jaguar, moved towards the great mountains away from the lowland jungle, where none of her kind lived.

She followed the barest scent, on scant trails long little used by man of old. The smells of modern man were not present.

Large as any cat on the planet, her splendid coat rippled as she moved. Her claws were retracted for attack, and her large head, with eyes of deep ember, watched all sides warily.

Though not the jungle, the valley was alive with diverse flora, orchids and many birds. The mountains rising at the sides, magnificent, but beyond her needs.

The trail complex and subtle, with only a trace sent, but for Her, that was sufficient.

Days later the train began its ascent into those mountains. Crossing passes of high elevation grasslands with tussock grass and alpine flowers, till reaching the cloud forest. No man was present, except for the trail she followed. It would be a good place to raise young when the time came. At night came fogs and there were a great variety of birds and small prey for the taking. The forest was filled with orchids and the Cantua buxifolia, a bright red flower with hummingbirds.

She was reminded of her long home.

But then again the scent and the remote trail winding upward and into new valleys and other mountain passes. An old trail long fallen into disuse.

Her path continued through long ghost valleys winding around and around, across streams and rivers, and careful footing down and up great ravines that no man could pass.

Cold temperatures and mostly fish for subsidence did not discourage her path.

Finally she entered a string of great hidden valleys, shrouded much by the high mountain clouds. More cloud forests and then open plains with herds of alpaca, vicunas and llamas were found grazing.

Food for her to take!

And in the distance, a most unfamiliar smell, that of man, but man of long lost days that her ancestors would recognize. The man smell of the trace scent she followed. No modern machinery, no modern pollution here. Instead man living as nature one with his surroundings.

After her long journey She had hunger, but this time she could choose her prey.

This day was drawing to a close. In the deep valley the sun was lost quite early. As the dark purple shadows grew, she quietly and quickly moved towards the man herd.

At the edge of the man village was a small hut. Inside a mother was preparing for the evening meal. Outside two young boys were playing on the ground.

Young, the best prey, the most flavorful.

Slowly creeping forward, She inched her way towards the boys. Gathering herself she sprang in one fluid motion covering an incredible distance.

In one motion her left paw batted the first boy breaking his neck ending his life. At the same time her jaws snapped shut on the neck of the other boy, her food.

Then away in vast bounding movements. None saw her or could follow her path.

Moving into the cloud forest she slowly devoured her meal.

Then as night enveloped the region, she cast back her head and roared.

She was God Jaguar, and she would rule.

Chapter 2 – Inca

His name was Ancion, the son of his father Ancion, he was the Inca whose name could not be spoken, and he was 9 years old.

Ancion hadn’t been born when his father died in the Master’s Challenge. He was raised in the shadow of his mothers’ grief and trained by the priests in the way of his fathers.

The Inca people had created a vast empire in South America prior to the arrival of the Spaniards. They developed extensive roads and a messenger system. Instead of writing they utilized the quipu, or knotted cords to record data and a vast system of accountants or quipucamayocs to use them.

They developed a very high level of masonry in building and underground support systems with no mortar using only stone hammer and wedges, but with block placed so tightly together a piece of paper could not be placed between them.

Highly developed agricultural science and animal husbandry, canals for waterways, stone carving and a very complex textile industry. And this was the ‘primitive’ society destroyed by the Spanish invaders.

The actual Incan society descended from the ancient gods of old. Those of Paelamama, the Earth Mother, the Apus, the powerful mountain deities, and Illapa, the God of Thunder and Lightening. Their ruler God, the Inca himself, drew on the powers of Illapa, and consecrated his people through his actions to the Enqa, the force that transcends all life and must be rekindled.

When the Spanish arrived, it was the uniqueness of their weapons, and the high civilization of the Inca that gave them their wedge to tear it down. Their lust for the gold and silver they found caused them to destroy the Inca society. A society not based on gold, for the Inca had mountains untapped full of the metal, but based on complex textiles with over 200 miles of thread in a single coat. This was where their wealth lied.

Trying to survive the onslaught the priests developed a hurried home in the God Inca’s retreat at Machu Picchu. But that was only temporary until they could take the faithful who remained true to the Inca to the hidden valleys and close their path behind them.

That Inca found his people swayed by the Spanish presence and knew that they were not worthy to save. Thus in hiding, except for a single contact with the outside world during the coming generations, his people kept to the older ways.

The Inca discovered how the foreign civilization reviled all other civilizations as primitive, because of their belief in different gods.

But the Inca touched those gods and once a generation participated in contest with the other surviving great civilizations, the Tellum, the Sinanju and others, to keep their skills pure and their people focused on maintaining true civilization.

In the case of the Inca, their home had the Cave of Truth where the Inca did touch the gods. Those gods only touched the earth in the high mountains and the Inca people, who lived in the highest layers of the entire world as a civilization, knew of them well.

The Cave of Truth, only entered by the Inca and his son, contained massive emerald columns that resonated with events around the world. There they could follow the course of mankind. There they could share in the arts of their ancestors and there they could touch the gods. But except for their skill with the Bola, surpassing all others, they did not access the forces and were very wary of those who could shape them, abomination.

The daily trips to the great cave always ended with gathering a hand of pebbles from the cave floor. Those pebbles were given to the Priests who developed artisians who shaped them into the greatest of personal Emeralds. Those and the small outcropping of gold, more sufficient for their personal craftsmanship than necessary, became fuel for each generation of Incas’ development.

Down the Amazon, far from the Peruvian headwaters, a Portuguese mission was given a tray of emeralds annually. In return they developed three fathers to teach the new Inca from age 10 to 18. When it was their time they would travel up the Amazon and not be seen for 8 years. In return for the funds paying for their entire society world wide, they did provide basic modern education, only to the Inca.

Then on his 20^th year, the young Inca did travel, alone, to North America. There Harvard University was the destination. That ancient Inca who befriended John Harvard, did leave a legacy that continues. Yearly shipments of Emeralds and Gold actually paid 1/3 of Harvard University’s entire costs. In return once a generation a young man showed up and was educated by a private set of instructors trained up just for his experience. There was an entire complex that just existed within the University, solely for the Incas’ instruction. Upon which completion he would leave the modern world, only to return one more time in his lifetime, to find Sinanju.

This is the world into which Ancion was born, the hereditary Inca.

When he was 5 he helped shatter his father’s bola and went into the cave to find Emeralds to form his own. With the Priests assistance the emeralds were set in mortar, and he did slay the Llama who formed the leather of his cord.

The priests were skilled in the bola. Using it, and only their small cleaning knife, they did patrol many leagues of surrounding valleys keeping them free from all men intruders. Their home would remain lost and forgotten.

Ancion learned to spin his bola till blood streamed from the cuts of the leather on his hand, or from abrasions on his body as he was hit time and time again. But no one stayed his hand. His mother reminded him of his fathers great fight and loss to the White Sinanju, and urged him to train harder.

Then 5 became 6 and the hands grew strong. The Priests instruction in the Bola ended, he had learnt their art, but in the Cave the lore of the past Inca were slowly revealed to him, how to grab and spin, different planes of force, new vectors of movement. The years past, and the young man grew stronger, running around the valley while his people lived, grew, tended their flocks, built, lived and died.

He continued only to train. His role as Inca was to be their protector. And he longed for the day when he would touch Illapa’s thunder and lightening, to be their protector. He also longed to be stronger and faster than the Sinanju devils and end their time, forever.

Thus it was the young and powerful Ancion, wearing the complex coat of his role that heard the priests bring news of trouble in the valley. That a great cat, a God Jaguar itself had found its way up from the Amazon and was preying on the people of the Inca.

Ancion knew his time had come. The Priests did protect the homeland, but he Ancion, the Inca, must deal with this new threat.

Gathering his bola, he did stride out into the valley towards the far peaks of Pacupila.

This was his hunt alone.

He was Ancion.

Chapter 3

The fields changed into dense brush as Ancion approached the end of the valley. He didn’t hear a sound but knew he was being stalked. Not from sound or trace but because the birds were silent and with one of the greatest diversity of birds in the world in the region that was a sure sign a great cat was present.

She shadowed the youth. Something about him projected purpose and that drew her attention. He wouldn’t be the simplest prey, but Man was the bitter enemy and each would make her life easier.

The jaguar’s reputation of being a man killer bothered Ancion not in the least. He knew from the knowledge share by his ancestors of all the predators in South America, that the Jaguar didn’t attack man moving, but shadowed him through their territory. When they attacked it was when they were in control, and when he moved with purpose the Jaguar could only follow.

As he approached the hills into the mountains he steadily climbed towards a level ground against a steep mountain wall.

Reaching it, though the sun was beginning to approach the mountain wall, he took the bola in his right hand and began to spin it making a low humming sound. Then turning his back to the steep cliff, he waited, watching as the bola kept spinning and humming.

Ancion knew the technique, but he also knew that no boy had attempted the Jaguar, or God Jaguar defense.

His training held and his arm grew not tired as it kept up the spinning of the bola. Suddenly, as darkness was ready to burst upon the valley, the cat sprung, several hundred kilo’s of fury aimed at his head.

At that moment. Ancion changed the plane of the bola and it sliced towards the side of God Jaguar’s head, but instead of striking behind the eyes, the great Jaguar spun and it struck into the side of her mouth.

With a great bellow, the pain of the strike dropped her from the air spinning to the ground.

She rolled back to her feet, but didn’t find purchase because the bola struck between and into her paws time and time again.

Like a drunk she was kept staggering and couldn’t attack, yet Ancion didn’t have the power to finish her off. He kept working her purchase. But when she sprang straight up and then twisted to the rear, he wasn’t able to advance and lost his control.

This left one very disrupted Jaguar and a young boy twirling a bola.

Pain was brushed aside. Her prey was fighting back, and it was a young one, one she needed. Ignoring the threat, once again she leapt driving her pawls towards his head.

Again the bola swung into the side of her teeth, chipping one, as again she dropped to the ground.

But this time a bolder stood between her and Ancion and he couldn’t attack her position.

Knowing the power and speed of the Jaguar were too much for him and seeing the ground was too broken for good bola technique, instead of trying to defend, Ancion turned and began climbing up the rock wall behind him.

As he scrambled upwards, She leapt over the bolder and raced towards him.

Too late, his climb just took him beyond her grasp.

She sat watching him advance hand and foot up hundreds of feet of sheer cliff. Perhaps he would stumble and she would have him yet.

But Ancion, knew well how to climb, one of the arts the Priests taught him, and he advanced steadily up that mountain side. Then at the half way point, his right hand took the bola and began to whirl it, again making the humming sound.

At that the Great Jaguar leapt up, finding she couldn’t follow him, this way. But hearing the noise the prey made, drove her to seek, and off she went searching for a different path.

Ancion knew where he was going. About 500 feet up there was a plateau on the mountain-side. It offered enough room to swing the bola, and there was only one manner of purchase the cat could follow, allowing him to prepare to receive her.

It was difficult, but in time he made the top of his climb. He stood up and made ready to find the Jaguar.

Instead fate found him. She was already there, having found a different, faster path than he knew.

From atop a large bolder she leapt towards him.

Ancion jerked his head up, seeing her descent and knowing the only choice he had, collapsed beneath her leap.

He fell, damaging his shoulder in the process but retaining purchase on the bola.

She landed, snarling and turning towards him.

Ancion rose, tried to begin his swing and forgot he was on the cliff’s edge. Human beings make mistakes, but he knew the price of a mistake as Ancion was death, both for him and his people.

His foot slid on some pebbles, and Ancion fell from the top of the cliff.

Not panicking, he immediately relaxed as he fell, spun up the bola and looked. Then in an instant seeing a small crack on the mountains side, let fly with the bola driving it into that crack.

It wedged itself enough for him to use, and holding to the bola end, swung himself back up to the top of the cliff.

He landed and with a return jerk, release the bola so it could fly up to him.

He found himself several hundred feet away from God Jaguar, as she was still seeking him down the mountain side.

Ancion, remembering the lessons from his father and his fathers fathers, relaxed, letting the bola hang limp. He slowed his breathing more and more until, for the first time, he fully breathed in.

It was as if a rush of energy washed over him. It was the breath of Illapa, the God of Thunder and Lightning, returned to the Inca.

This time he spun up his bola, and once again the humming began.

She heard and sensed her prey, standing not far from her position. With great intensity, she moved into the deep shadows, her coat broken that she couldn’t be seen, and began her stalk.

Ancion, however, didn’t keep the simple hum. Instead he pulled and a great shriek sounded as the bola went supersonic for his first time. Now he turned his back on her presence and continued to spin.

She saw him, finally, ready to be taken, and moved into strike range.

Ancion, however, was using the spinning bola cord as a type of mirror, it was gathering reflected light and with its spin, Ancion could follow her motion approaching.

She gathered herself and sprang at the Inca’s head.

Ancion snapped around, but this time didn’t aim for the point at the side of her head. This time he breathed slowly and took the gathering energy and upped the spin into the hypersonic range. His vision saw her leap in very slow motion, motion so slow it was a simple matter to guide the bola through her head, splitting it in two.

The threat was ended. He was safe. His people and their families and herds were safe.

Walking over to the Great Jaguar, he reached down with his left hand grabbing the back of her neck with hardened fingers. With his right he spun up the bola once more. Its wake created a lifting force and slowly he rose into the valley air and slowly settled towards the ground below carrying his victory.

He was Ancion, as his father was before him. His life had much to offer before his time to face Sinanju would arrive and he would be ready as none had been before him.

Section 2 – Kirra

Chapter 4 – Where is the Jungle Patrol when you need it?

The old flat bed truck smashed its way over rough terrain from the Mau Republic towards Kundo-kokinu a Dogon village in the Homburi mountains. The armed young men clinging to the back were the Unified African Revolutionary Forces, actually a group of terrorists trying to conquer as much of Africa as their ambitions could take them.

On the normal day most of the world doesn’t think about Africa, birthplace of mankind. Exceptional drought and starvation or even exceptional death from terrorism doesn’t register in others eyes. Always thought of as a home of primitive people, the rest don’t even begin to understand the vast human wealth those people’s traditions represent.

People, who revere their tribal traditions and wealth of their family relationships more than modern progress. People living in lands that are harsh and cruel to survival.

But where people just strive to survive in dignity there are plenty who wish to use them, conquer them and destroy their lives for their own gain. The UAR were not highly trained beyond the ability to line up and shoot without hitting each other. But their leaders wanted them to capture villages, destroy the men and take captive the women and children. The boys would become more soldiers, broken from their tribes and turned to the UARF’s wants. The women and girls would be sold, a cash crop.

This was a very harsh country, one with little intercourse with modern tradition. No power, no services and no knowledge of what was in store for them. This attack on Kundo-Kokinu was the first of many planed in these lands in southeast Maui on a hard rocky plateau.

Nearing their goal the truck stopped and the men aboard deployed with their guns in a rough line and began walking towards the village.

Picking their way over the rough terrain as the group rounded a small hill before the village they found a grandfather walking towards them.

“Stop, these are protected grounds of the Dogon. Our people are the Iron Smiths and have ancient knowledge of the great heavens. You do not want to be here.”

The leader replied, ‘Protected by who, old man, you?”

“No, not I, but by the Tellem and their great warrior, Kiree.”

“Protected by spiders and myths?” he laughed out loud.

“There are no Tellem, and if there were they could not stop our guns. We are the Mau, the great Unified African Revolutionary Forces, our leader has commanded and we obey. Your village will be no more.”

And he shot the elder grandfather, stepped over the body and he and his men began the attack on the village.

The men of Kundo-kokinu bravely rose up with their spears and long knives to defend their homes. They knew not fear of death for they knew the dead were to be reborn. But that knowledge and their ability did nothing against the UARF guns and they bravely died.

Then the wives, women and children were rounded up. The old women were slain too as they had no value. Against the shocked moaning of the survivors they were rounded up and herded back to the truck and force on its back. With their captors running alongside, the truck slowly made its way down the hillside towards a holding camp others had prepared 10 miles away.

Quite suddenly the sounds of terror died, instead an ancient chant replaced it and the surviving women and children all implored..

“o’Tellem, ancient of all peoples, those whose web circles the world, those who live under each leaf, your faithful people the Dogon have need of the warrior Kiree, Destroy these destroyers and make our lives whole again. The Dogon request this aid, o’Tellem.”

Their captors grinned at each other, thinking of their great victory, the money they would receive, the fun they would have in the evening, and the rising ascendancy of the Mau.

Guns not belief in ancient gods were all that were required.

Chapter 5 – Her name was Kirra

Her name was Kirra, she was 14 and knew it was now her time to replace her father.

She had felt his death the previous day. It had been a good day and he had died a good death. The Masters Challenge was necessary for all the ancient peoples, and when it was proposed the Tellem knew it would be necessary to prepare all of them for the future they could see.

It was funny that the old Korean legends were true. The gods did prepare the Tellem first and did bake them long and hard to survive in the African lands. The Tellem were very slight, easier to hide from predators, easier to hide their abilities. They learned their powers from the ancient orders, such as the Spiders.

They were not plentiful but with their ability to link their minds, their lack of numbers didn’t matter. Where one Tellem strode, all of them were present, and each Man, Woman and Child was a warrior of the world.

Her father had been the latest in the long line of Kiree, and when he was reborn would take back his name. The Dogon were but one tribe that were under the protection of the Kiree. Protection that couldn’t stop famine or drought, but could help preserve the old traditions.

The Kiree were on the world when the God’s did arrive on the mountaintops. Those beings of vast power did not do well in the deep air of the world, but they could live in the roof of the temple. The Kiree, already great climbers, unobserved watched those God’s labor and create the other races and use the world for their own desires. Great Gods, Lesser Gods, it mattered not. All used the Earth for their unnatural needs.

But they didn’t observe the Kiree, and even the Snake Clans didn’t know the spiders watched their every move. It was most often in those unobserved by the gods, like the village of Sinanju, where the true powers for the future would arise.

The Dogon, long ago removed from Egypt, knew some of the god’s secrets. The ancient Dogon people had been aided by the Nommos, amphibious beings sent to Earth from Sirius. The name comes from a Dogon word meaning 'to make one drink', and the Nommos are also called 'Masters of the Water', the 'Monitors', and the 'Teachers'.

The Dogon tells the legend of the Nommos, awful-looking beings who arrived in a vessel along with fire and thunder. After they arrived here - they put out a reservoir of water onto the Earth then dove into the water.

The Tellem had observed the presence of the Nommos, beings whose being was fishlike. Why they came to earth was not known, but they left the Dogon with a great knowledge of the heavens, knowledge beyond their ability to observe from Earth.

When driven from Egypt, it was the subtle guidance of the Tellem, that found them their current homes and long standing protection. The Tellem felt the knowledge retained by the Dogon would one day be important in a future struggle against all the Gods.

Thus it fell to Kirra, daughter of Kiree, to stand in defense of this Dogon tribe and for all the Dogon.

Chapter 6 – Spiderweb

As Kirra approached the camp of the UARF, she recalled her father’s recent words to Remo Williams, ““We are everywhere…The Tellem are an ancient race, older than time. We believe that the first me on earth were of our tribe. The spirits of those first men have stayed within us. We live in the caves, in the hills, on the grass plains. The Tellem keep no home. We are like the spider – small, almost invisible, who can weave her nets anywhere. Yet she finds the prey she seeks because her net accepts all, watches everything, discards no being because of its appearance.”

This was how Kirra felt about herself, it was the way all the Tellem lived.

She would climb over the boulders, work the lowest brush or casting one of her webs, wing between the trees. And unseen by all, approached their stronghold unseen.

The UARF had taken a small valley between two hills, built a temporary barricade on one end and turned it into a holding cell for their recent prisoners. Today one village, tomorrow another and so on until there were enough to sell off in mass to foreign buyers.

Tomorrow the young boys would be separated from their mothers and sent into another training facility. Today’s guns could be light enough for even an 8 year old to hold and fire, and in short order they would be new shock troops for future UARF actions.

Well into the deepening cloudy and rainy night, Kirra heard the chanting of the Dogon prisoners. They believed the Tellem warrior would save them, and she planned to fulfill their request.

The rains stopped and the moon peaked through breaking clouds. On this side of the closest hill there were two sentries on duty watching from on top of the hillside. But watching for that which they could see, masses of men or troops, columns of vehicles, not looking for the spider.

At a nearby rocky overhang Kirra found a stand of dried grass. Taking a generous handful she clasped her hands together quickly and began to shred the grass into powder with the quick action of those hands. When there was only powder she spat into the mixture and her fingers kneaded the mixture till it turned into the rubbery pulp she expected.

From a pouch at her waist she poured in some resin from the fruit pulp of the bala tree, to make it last. And then threw her arms wide, spinning the mixture into a fine rope in the air. Then creating another and still another, she spun them and wove them into a fine woven net, translucent as gossamer.

As Kirra was under three feet tall, she was able to get quite close to the sentries, and prepare herself.

Spinning the web in the air, she threw a loop of the fine fiber over the first sentry’s neck and sharply pulled. So fine and strong the web cut straight through that neck, decapitating her enemy, silently. Then she repeated the action with the other sentry with the same result.

Then creeping over the hillside she observed only one guard at the valley entrance, awake. The remainder of the terrorists were asleep in their tents, but their guns were at their sides.

The descent down the steep hillside was silent and most sudden. One instant she was at the top, the next on the bottom. The chanting Dogon survivors was a lull for the guard and helped the other soldiers remain asleep.

Finding some more dry grass she prepared another mixture for netting, stole over to the tents and quietly wove a web from tent to tent.

The last tent held the commanding officer, but there she slipped in raised a short tube from her pouch and exhaled into it sharply. A small dart found its mark in the side of the officer’s neck.

Tipped with the poison of the six-eyed crab spider, genus Sicarius, from southern Zimbabwe, it was the most venomous spider poison in the world. Its virulent cytotoxic poison destroys not only the tissue from the sting, but also throughout the body and death will occur shortly after from massive internal bleeding.

An appropriate end for someone fomenting so much trouble on a peaceful land.

Spinning still another strand of her web she approached the guard from his rear, and as a whip snapped out across his back. He screamed from the sudden pain, but in the next instant the web cracked back across his throat separating the trachea, defeating him.

Kirra wanted that noise, At the start all of the soldiers awoke, began shouting ‘Awake, Awake’ and began to jump out of their beds.

But their efforts were fruitless, for when the leapt they discovered their feet were bound and tied to the bottom of their beds, and instead of rising they all fell, fell across the remaining strands of the webs which cut into their bodies.

There was no fight, there was just death and that detachment of the United African Revolutionary Forces became un-united, and joined in death.

Approaching the chanting Dogon survivors, still unseen she cast her voice out to the ear of one of the mothers.

“Dogen people, the Tellem have freed you. Return quickly to your village, bury your dead and dance to their joy at being given the chance to rejoin their people shortly.”

She turned and left, clambering up the steep hillside. Below the word spread quickly and all of the Dogon left the valley prison and began to trek back to their homes.

Hearing their chant for ‘Kiree’ in her ears made Kirra smile. Her skills came from her father and she had her own observance of his joyful death to consider.

And all of the Tellem people with her waited as she continued to move into the countryside.

She would wait and grow, as would her people. The ancient Tellem saw the nearing crisis and their battle to defend all of Africa, their battle to help mankind survive and their war to prepare for the greatest of battles of all time, when all of the ancient people would be called to do their part.

Soon, too, Kirra would be called for her next service for her people, her marriage and continuing role in the circle of life, for as it was fortold she would have a son, and on that day he was born, his name would be Kiree.

Victor Smith

Author's notes: Well perhaps by now what this effort is shaping up to be is apparent.

Rather than step on the toes of the current author(s) I'll work the

fringes.

For those of you who follow my tales, this is the second time I've met the Tellem. 'Sinanju 2 K' told of the first meeting between Sinanju and these powerful people.

I do find the African people are among the most overlooked anywhere. their cultures are far richer, IMO, than most consider. And as in my more recent humble efforts, the is a historical relationship between the Dogon and the Tellum as well as other parts of my story.

Of course I'm in the Victor Destroyer world, with no real relationship to our own. Well maybe some relationship. The Dogon people do have an incredible astronomical tradition, do have tales about the fish people from Sirus and as for the Tellem being the first of all, why not they're as skilled and deserving as anyone.

I trust some of you will find this interesting, especially when you

see what will be coming in future sections. At least in vision I have

no limits, I think <GRIN>

Have a pleasant day!
Section 3 – Islands in the Stream

Chapter 7 – Assault

NATO’s unregistered assault force cut through the cold waters of the North Atlantic. It was the High Speed Assault Frigate HMS Cricket, one of the fleet 21^st century fleet upgrades, that was manned by 5 and carried two special forces units. SAS detachment 4 and Gurkha Force 17, neither of which existed on NATO’s register of forces.

Their goal, destruction of Lakluun.

The Faeros islands in the North Atlantic, between Denmark and Iceland had become very important to NATO. The recent discovery of the Thorson Oil Fields within the Faeros Islands 200 mile fishing limit and the vast potential for their development had become very critical for the future survival of Europe.

But the home rule granted the Faeros Islands in 1948 made them an independent entity within the kingdom of Denmark. In effect leaving the Danish government to do the duties they didn’t care about.

Commander Clark kept going over the briefing from General Rhyme as they made their progress to their target.

“Gentleman, Commander Clark, Captains Stephenwolf and Krai, the real problem with the Faeros is that we can’t trust them to follow the rest of Europe. That damned 1948 treaty seems to give them total control over the waters where the oil fields lie.”

“Why doesn’t the Danish government just change the treaty.” Commander Clark questioned.

“Because, because, they don’t know why, just that they won’t.”

“Back then a storm hit the Danish Capital and destroyed much of the government. The Senior officials and the King signed the treaty with the Faeros after the storm and none kept any record of what transpired behind those signings. Today all of them are dead. The only clue we found is in the Kings son’s private diary. Alas he too is now dead, but when his father was dying, he gave private counsel to his son to beware of Laaklun.”

Captian Stephenworf spoke, “I seem to recall that name from history somewhere.”

“Right you are Captain, Laaklun was reported over 1,000 years ago to be the home base of Brokk, leader of a group of Viking warriors known for their raids across Europe and Great Britain. Only Ireland after Saint Patrick, was safe from their doings.”

“The Faeroes were originally settled by the Vikings, though later immigration by the Norwegians and then the Danish settled it, but only in old stories still told in the Ancient Norse language of the Faeroes does the name Laaklun still be told. That got us to thinking and our satellite surveillance of the area, found a perpetual cloud bank from the meeting of the Gulf Stream and the colder North Atlantic waters, and underneath those clouds an rather large island lies. One no one today knows about.”

“Or rather no one outside of the rulers of the Faeroes. It is our assumption that an attack force from that island was the cause of the storm in 1948, storm being another name for an assault in Danish, and that there must be a defensive force stationed there. With the American’s pulling out of NATO, not strong enough to stand up to a United Europe since President Clinton took office, we’ve set up your unit as Europe’s private strike force, or cleaning agency.”

“What we want you to do, gentlemen, is Commander Clark to use your speedy stealth craft to deposit Captain Stephenworf’s SAS troopers and Captain Krai’s Gurhka’s on that island, and allow them to cleanse it, totally! Quietly within that cloud bank where none will see what transpires. Then we can approach the Faeroes openly and with ‘clean’ hands resolve our difficulty. Any problems with that plan, gentlemen?”

“Sir, No, Sir!”, all three replied.

It was the middle of the night when they reached the outer limits of the fog bank in those waters West of the main Faeroes Islands. The assault would be challenging. The hidden island from satellite infrared surveillance was ringed with tall cliffs and there were only two landing areas on the Western shore. One near a tall group of mountains on the North side, the other near the only opening into the interior.

With their Nepalese backgrounds the Gurhka’s, the worlds finest assault forces, chose to move into the mountains and work their way around the settlement on the other end of the island. The SAS forces would work their way, with their high tech equipment and weaponry, up the center, and between them they would apply a modern version of Alexanders Hammer and Anvil. The SAS would be the Hammer, driving all into the Anvil of the Gurhka. A certain victory for these men.

Quietly the Gurhka’s took off in old style inflatable rubber craft, rowing their way to shore. When enough time passed, the SAS took more modern hovercraft and blazed off toward their landing.

Commander Clark and his crew of 5 remained behind, cruising silently in the waters.

The Gurhka landed, hid their boats and immediately began their climb into the mountains. Each had but a single Enfield, No5 MkI, or "Jungle Carbine" and of course their

‘Khukuri” knives, the finest hand to hand combat weaponry in existence, and their life long skills behind those blades.

The SAS, on the other hand, were as modernly equipped as possible. Capable of laying down large fields of fire with incredible weaponry at their disposal.

Their craft swung up the beach and immediately they deployed their standard diamond perimeter. The Captain last out, looking up the valley of trees and grasses.

Then as he looked the first Sergeant noticed he grew a single arrow out of his left eye, and of course he pitched back, dead.

The battle of the Faeroes Islands had begun.

Chapter 8

Standing on a hill, far in the distance the tall man dropped his bow and watched with satisfaction, his aim was true.

His name was Thord, and he was the Viking Chief of Lakluun Viking Brotherhood. For over 1,500 years his people lived on these islands, today the protectors of the Faeore Islands. The invasion was expected since the discovery of the oil fields off the islands. The Faeroes government in Torshaven had given them word of the pressures the European governments were starting to bring on them.

But the Europeans had for the most part relegated his people into historical tales and forgotten the true Viking spirit and terror. It was time to re-educate them in the ancient traditions.

The Vikings were a very proud people. Of course part of their tradition was the pillaging and plundering their name represented, but they were also farmers, families with long traditions too. They didn’t fight as individuals, but as a people. Their shouts, slashing knives, swords and axes, the battering of their shields and their archery and spears, made for deep

The Viking brotherhood, exclusively male were the seafaring raiders. The Viking sisterhood actually oversaw the farms, trade and other activities. Keeping to their most ancient culture, the Vikings were different from other peoples. There were no children, or rather childhood. There were just infants (cared for by the Viking elders, and Vikings.

Where other cultures allowed young men and women to play, school and ‘grow up’, in the Viking culture when they weren’t infants they were full Vikings. And full Vikings, each contributed to the Viking way as their abilties allowed. They were a communal culture, for example these people took their meals in common, raw fish or skerpikjot - raw wind-cured mutton.

The path of the young man or woman was often studying languages and modern culture, with tutors provided by the Faeore’s government. But only a very small part of the time. Most of their time was spent in ship building (with their bare hands each of them could and did construct almost any type of seafaring craft imaginable, as well as the skills to travel the globe with their creation. And there were the unceasing combat drilling with all the Vikings.

The times may have changed, but they retained the most practical sword and shield, bow and arrow, shield and axe and of course shield and spear combat training. They were fully as capable in these days as any Viking people from any past time.

In that they were the guardians of Bifrost, ladder to the eldar Norse Gods, the path between the worlds. It has been long ages since the gods did walk the earth, but their mark was still on the Viking horde. The people all shared one common trait, their eyes would change colour with their moods. This was a shared trait, as well as their uncanny ability to survive the raw ocean waters, often at temperatures that every other race of man would succumb

The only exception to that was the long tradition of the Master’s Challenge. Once each generation a warrior was chosen to meet the challenge from the last Challenge winner. It was almost to the point of exasperation that for over 1,000 years the Vikings had continued, generation after generation, to loose to those little yellow men from the Korean kingdom. It wasn’t for lack of effort, but the Vikings realized that their strength, combat en masse, wasn’t the point. Man or Woman, all fell before the men of Sinanju.

Though there was, once over 500 years ago, an attempt to change that. Man and Woman Viking all had failed. So then, when Gi the son of Master Go, and later renamed to Gi Hwa, arrived on Laakluun, he met their challenger, Bragi. Bragi was a young Viking, all of 8 years old, but very skilled in the knife and shield. The tales record the did stand before Gi, who was calling out the name of Bragi, but paid no attention to the boy.

Bragi did strike with fluidity, scoring a slight score on the lower abdomen of Gi. The legend continue Gi, noticing too late the young attacker, did react quickly, but each time he went to fight, a force seemed to be holding him back, and Bragi would attack again, and then again.

But as Gi was now forewarned as his attacker’s identity, the blade didn’t touch him. It seemed a curious stalemate, Bragi could attack but not land a blow, Gi could initiate an attack and then be pulled mysteriously short.

Finally Gi, stopped, coldly eyed Bragi and then his mates and began to breath more slowly and calmly. With each breath it was if he was finally reaching adulthood. Then the watchers heard him say, “Yes!”, and he moved on Bragi, took the knife from him and turned him over his knee. With what looked like gentle swats, he turned Bragi’s backside bright, glowing red and Bragi, Viking or not, howled in pain.

As he released the boy, Gi turned to the Viking elders.

“This is not a fair challenge. Sinanju does not make war on children.”

“Wrong, man of Sinanju, the Vikings do not have children, only Vikings.”

“Do you wish to accept my further challenge, do all of you wish to accept it?” As he spoke he put his hand through the trunk of an Oak crashing it to the ground.

There was only silence.

“Then I declare this challenge ended. In the future if one before 15 is given this task, the full role of the Master’s Challenge is declared void, and Sinanju will wage war against the Viking horde.”

Thus from that day forth, only the older Vikings did join the Masters Challenge.

This day Thord did eliminate the Captain of the invaders. It was well know the European’s commanders were last off their craft. Their invasion was the invitation to death, and he fired the first shot.

Seeing the adversary Captain die, he turned to his people.

“This is the day. It appears our knowledge of the Europeans is correct. They’ve used the British SAS for the main attacking body across Lakluun. To counter them the Viking Sisterhood will accept their challenge. To conquer the hills, they’ve sent their Gurkhra forces, the worlds most skilled mountain and hand to hand forces from far Tibet. Because of the most serious nature they represent, the Young Vikings will accept their challenge.”

“Finally, as these forces follow the orders of their masters, it will be the task of the Viking Brotherhood to strike against them directly. Each of you swear allegiance to our gods, and the fates that we will remain victorious in the upcoming battles.”

“For Valhalla!”

And shouts were raised across the village. “For Thor!” “For Sif!”, the younger men did shout “For Loki”, the Eldars charged with the protection of the infants did shout “To Odin” or ‘For “Asgaard”

With Viking pride flowing forth the people did go for their weapons, the youth to the hills, the women across the valley floor and the men to the fjords holding their boats.

Viking War!

Chapter 9

The Gurhkra forces worked their way into the volcanic hills on the Western side of Lakluun. They chose this course because of their Nepal origins, mountains were their friends. But none of them had encountered hills like these before. The volcanic rock hadn’t weathered and was sharp obsidian, too sharp to begin to work their way over. Instead they were forced to follow a pattern of old collapsed lava tubes, or rills, steep and narrow, into a maze of them to work their way around the mountainside.

Eventually their paths became so narrow they could only follow single file and sideways at that. Not knowing the easiest way, and for operational deployment they formed four separate columns following different paths towards the Northern backside of the island.

Down in the valley, there were a blanket of cultivated fields, herds of sheep, fields of produce and rough forests to contend with. The forests became tough barriers for the SAS forces, now under the command of Leftenant Hobson. It was as if they had been intentionally grown to make it impossible to transverse them.

Concerned with operational details, and working on making progress towards the other side of the island, they didn’t realize their efforts were being channeled towards one clearing, one of the Vikings home defense traditions going back over a thousand years.

The Viking knew how to infilde their enemy and made use of that knowledge to prepare vigorous defense of their own homes.

The Gurhkra force was under the command of the most experienced Master Sergeant in British Gurhkra history, the man named Noone. He had over 35 years of almost non-stop combat experience in every terrain throughout the former British Empire. If there was action he was there and always in the thick of things.

Having the chance to tackle the Vikings, Master Sergeant Noone made sure he was the one assigned to the strike force. Back in Nepal, he had a princely home, bought by his efforts and was renowned for the support of his family and village. For the Nepalese, being part of the Gurhkra meant fortune, immortality and adventure.

His experience made him instantly realize how exposed his forces were, but there was no other alternative. These lava fields made normal climbing unworkable, his forces were now split and really couldn’t be unified till they finished the passage through these rills.

He gave a command and outside of the point all others kept their weapons pointed skyward as they moved on.

Suddenly arrows filled the air dropping down atop the Gurhkra. Then long spears followed and one by one his troops died, not firing a shot. The attack started from the rear and was working its way towards the front of each column.

Master Sergeant Noone, being second in his column, grabbed the man behind him when an arrow struck him in his head and immediately strong-armed his body over his own head, as he felt arrows strike the unfortunate one. Next he heard his point die, and the attacks stopped. Sounds of death were abundant as the Gurhkra commando’s died. Ignoring the absurdity of the situation, keeping hold on the mans body atop his head, he forced his way overtop of his point man and made his way down the rill to its end in a mountain clearing.

There, standing before him was a group of Viking children. They were his attackers, his enemy. With anger he threw the dead body from the rill’s end and went to grab his gun but found he dropped it in his transit.

Noone couldn’t turn back, nor could he abandon his mission. Instead, he reached behind his back and drew his Khukuri, 24 inches of wicked shaped steel, curved inward. A blade due to its construction that could not fail, and worked his way forward.

Seeing an opponent, blade in hand the children lowered their bows, those with spears stood back, and a young man about 11 with long braded blond hair stepped out with shield and sword.

Striking his shield with the sword he proclaimed, “I am Alf, Viking, and I will return your spirit to the underworld this day.”

“And I am Master Sergeant Noone, of the Gurhuka. I’ve been charged to end all of your days.”

At that he charged the boy swinging the Khukuri in strong figure eights.

Alf responded by driving forward with his shield, angled upward, his blade remaining at his side.

The Khukuri struck and glanced off the shield, where upon Alf struck across the knees of the Master Sergeant. But the Noone recognized the maneuver and danced sideways away from the strike, then his blade returned again and again.

The boy was a strong fighter, but the Noone knew he was no match for him. With long battlefield experience, he used his moving Khukuri to batter with tighter and tighter circles the inside edge of the boys shield. As his circles grew smaller, the boys shield movements made larger movements. It was but a short time that his mastery of technique moved the boy to leave an opening and then his Khukuri took off his head.

Alf was no more.

Instantly the children began to holler and strike their own shields. Their ancient Norse was difficult to understand but Master Sergeant Noone realized they were happy for Alf; he could make out “Valhalla” over and over again.

Then they stilled and a young woman, of maybe 14 moved forward holding a Viking battle axe.

“I am Arnora, I will deliver your spirit to Hel today.”

This time she charged him her axe smashing down towards the crown of his head.

Master Sergeant Noone stood resolute, unmoving till the last second and then he shifted slightly and drove his Khukuri up between her legs splitting her open to the heart. Arnora was dead, but her axe completed its downward swing and removed two of his toes and the boot around them.

Noone stood with a second child dead at his feet, blood flowing from his foot and shouted, “Viking devils, you will all die this day. Your pale skins and fair hair will flow with blood when I’m finished. Thousands of years ago my people learnt their skills with the blade from the legendary Night Tigers of Sinanju, when we performed a service for the Dongyi Empire in our home mountains. No one can stand before us?’

But the children didn’t listen, as before they were gladly shouting the glory of Valhalla, and what a glorious battle had taken place.

A small boy of 8 stood forth.

“No one can stand before you? Well we all stand before you. Your skills may have come from the fabled Night Tigers, but we are the Vikings, guardians of the Bifrost gate between Asgaerd and Mittegard. Our blades have worked for years too.”

“And who is this morsel before me? You, all of you will be carrion before this ends.”

“I am Jeorg, son of Jilda, former Champion of Lakluun. You have bested Alf who was 3, and Arnora who was 2. I am 1 and this will finish now old pile of bones.”

Hearing those words, Master Sergeant Noone made a great cut with his Khukuri, towards Jeorg’s head. The head wasn’t there, instead the boy spun towards the inside of the slicing arm, and a small blade appeared in his hand and drove into the biceps of his attacker, severing it into two.

Instead of the boy’s death, the Sergeant’s hand released his blade, which began a tumble to the ground. At that instant Jerog flipped backwards, grabbed the handle of the Khukuri as he landed, then reversed the flip atop the shoulders of Master Sergeant Noone.

Completing his leap, he drove the Khukuri downward splitting his opponents head in two.

The Sergeant fell in death, Valkyrie appeared and took the two dead children away, and the rest began their trek back to their village, content in their efforts.

The Viking Sisterhood had prepared the clearing of Vitor for the invading SAS forces, too.

In the center of the clearing an alter was prepared. But it wasn’t empty, instead one of the Sisters, Ingrida, was being tied down upon it until she couldn’t move. Once that was done the rest of the Sisterhood seemed to vanish into the surrounding countryside.

Alone with Ingrida was the Elder, Arna. She looked at her daughter with compassion, then rent her clothes exposing her to any who arrived. Finally she slapped her daughter across the face, splitting her cheek and lip open, a few drops of the blood flowing into Ingrida’s mouth.

At that Ingrida did struggle most ferociously against her bonds, but to no avail.

Arna looked down at her once again with compassion. “My dear, we salute your sacrifice, make me proud!”, and herself disappeared from sight.

For a long time Ingrida did struggle, unable to free herself.

Then did the first of the SAS arrive in the field and sent sub-vocal radio messages back to the Leftenant at their discovery.

As twilight had come the SAS slowly moved in, their night vision goggles in place, clearly seeing the clearing was empty. With heat sensitive lenses their scouts searched for anyone in the surrounding woods, with sound gathering devices they listened for breathing or stealth sounds. All they found was the clearing was abandoned, except for the alter and the woman tied on it. At that point the entire group did advance and took up a perimeter around the alter.

“Sir, we have what appears to be a mostly naked woman tied to an alter. She doesn’t seem to be very happy and is struggling to free herself. There is also no sign of anyone else. What do you make of it?”

At that the Leftenant approached the woman and looked.

“Well I don’t know but offhand it appears she’s been given to us as payment, perhaps to leave them alone. A right awful thing to do to her, wot? And not a bad looking one at that. Still we have a mission to destroy everyone on the island, and I don’t think our superiors will accept her as a substitute. Pity.”

“Sir, what do we do.”

“Obviously, follow orders. Kill her and move on!”

At those words, Ingrida fulfilled her mission. She wasn’t as sacrifice, she wasn’t bait. She became, instead, Berserker.

In the annals of Viking tradition, the role of berserker was the most honored. One driven into an awful killing rage that no one could bring down.

What Ingrida did, fueled by the drops of her blood her mother had driven into her mouth, was to bite down on her tongue and taste her own blood flow. Instantly with the strength Sif shared with the Viking Sisterhood, she felt her strength and speed magnify to Superhuman.

One pull and the strong ropes holding her were rent. One shrug and her clothes slipped from her body. On the conclusion of the words “move on” she leapt towards the Leftenant, pulled his combat knife from its rig and sliced clear through is throat, and then on to the next two men with him. In one flowing movement the blade did its work and blood freely spurted into the air.

At once she was covered with a bloody sheen, and as if the troop was standing still, she tore into them.

The SAS had been looking in the wrong place. It was at this moment the ground seemed to open, and cleverly disguised openings appeared and the rest of the Sisterhood, shouting for the glory of Sif, appeared blades in hand.

But they weren’t attacking instead they were driving the outside SAS forwards inward to meet the death dealt by Ingrida.

In time they were all dead, and the rest of the Sisterhood moved back allowing Ingrida to complete her berseker rage slicing into the bodies of their enemy. When the rage dissipated and she did swoon, the rest of the women went to retrieve her body and carry it to the falls of forgiveness to be cleansed.

Night fell, Lakluun was secure as it had been for so long. It now fell on the Viking brothers to make the name Viking ring across Europe, once again.

Chapter 10

Thord and 15 of his Viking brothers made to see in a very low, manpowered craft. An ancient Batrs attack boat, without mast like the Skuders most associate with the Vikings.

But well they knew the modern era of the sea. The fact they could cut through the waves and had no mast for radar to track made them invisible to the modern navy. And the fact their unique physiology made it possible for them to survive the cold Atlantic waters,
allowed them to do what was impossible for any other group of people.

They knew the attackers on Lakluun, had to come ashore from some craft and before long they found the trolling HRMS Cricket circling offshore.

Thord, Finn and Skorri slipped off the side when the stealth craft could just be seen moving in their general direction, and began swim towards it while the others moved quietly away. Boarding and conquering any craft at sea was one of the Viking specialities. Their eyes shifted to gold as they slipped forward just under the water.

Approaching the Cricket, Finn had a large bow strapped to his back, which he removed and slowly shifted to floating on his back. He then placed the bow beneath his feet, drew the string back with both hands and placed an arrow to fire.

Meantime Thord and Skorri approached the slowly moving craft and seeing only one man on deck, gave the signal, whereby Finn fired his arrow, eliminating the sentry. Then the two threw grappling hooks up the side of the ship, and mounted their quarry.

Swords in hand, the two Vikings, attacking from surprise, located the remaining three crew and Commander Clark. In short order the crew were dead, Commander Clark a captive and the ship made to stop allowing the remaining Vikings to make their way on board.

Thord didn't like the feel of this craft, amazing as it was. It didn't flow with the sea the way Viking ships did, but still, once the Commander was sufficiently encouraged, it was going to speed them to their destination, NATO's Force Secure Headquarters off the North Sea near Oostende.

Still the companionship of stout fellow Vikings on Raid once more was a comfort.

Just as the High Speed Assault Frigate HMS Cricket was a modern wonder, the effort and planning NATO High Command put into the Force Secure Headquarters was no less amazing.

Stealth was the watchword. To the rest of Europe, they were a factory manufacturing radio equipment. Simply an ordinary business, and no need for anything but routine security forces. That they kept no military force present, and only were involved in the planning and control of special missions, made their lack of security more reasonable.

After all this was Europe, civilized and rational. On the surface there was nothing that would link this location to Force Secure business.

The military access was underneath the ground, via undersea tunnel which only the Cricket could access in submersible mode. And with that ship in the control of the SAS forces with Ghukra assistance, how could it be more secure.

When the Cricket raced towards the coast of Belgium, at the last instant the ship slipped underneath the sea and made its way to dock, fully automatic. As it wasn't scheduled to return for days, and its stealth provisions caused even the base automatic monitoring to not notice its presence, no one was in the dock when the ship appeared and opened up for discharge of its captors.

Now hard, rough bearded Viking warriors armed with axes, bows and arrows, pikes and swords, charged out and began their raid of the NATO facility.

Of course it wasn't a raid but a slaughter. Men with weapons drawn burst into room after room throughout the facility with their Viking shouts. Most were incapable of responding and simply died.

General Rhyme just settled down to dinner with his wife and two teenage daughters. He had a comfortable home on the grounds of the NATO facility, allowing him quick access to the control center. They heard a banging sound on the door and his wife rose to answer it.

Then the door smashed open and the next thing the General saw was his wife's head roll across the floor. Followed by a scene out of history, a group of Viking warriors, blood on their weapons rushing inside.

He rose and began "See here, this simply isn't done…" but got no further as the butt of a spear smashed into his stomach driving him to the floor.

Gasping he dropped on all fours and heard the Vikings strike his daughters unconscious and drag them outside over their shoulders.

Thord knelt down beside him and in a quick motion cut off two of the fingers on his left hand.

The General screamed.

"My good General, that wasn't even a part of what you wanted to put my people through. Your forces invaded or home to slaughter us for your European Superiors, and you readily gave the command to destroy us. Well you're not good enough and all of you will discover the price of your incompetence."

"As I speak your men have been destroyed. Your wife is dead, your daughters our captives as well as some of the other women on the base. We've downloaded your control computer systems and destroyed them. Your function doesn't exist in reality, anymore."

"You will be kept alive to deliver a message to your masters. Stay away from the Faeros islands and our home. To drive the point home you must realize all of the Vikings don't live with us. There are private colonies throughout Europe, waiting. Today they received the word and with swiftness Copenhagen no longer has a Royal family, Paris no longer has the Louvre, and several other brutal despicable acts have been committed by our friends."

"Additionally the Faeros have just signed a treaty of commitment with the United States, to allow them to assist us in the development of our oil reserves, on some future undefined date. So bothering us is going to directly involve the United States, as oil is more important to them than European friendship, as if they cared about that anyways."

"You are incapable of understanding our existence, but the future demands our eternal freedom. But in fairness we're not leaving you off so simply."

In swift motion Thord drew his sword and severed the General's feet and then both hands. Quickly tying off the stumps of this legs and arms, he left the General lying in a pool of his own blood.

"Perhaps you will live to deliver the message. Perhaps not and your recording equipment covering your house will do so for us. It matters not. You will never see your daughters again and all has been for naught as your forces are gone, too.'

"For Aesegard!"

Thord made his way back to the Cricket and met his men there.

"Thord, we have taken much from them. Cases of fine Whiskey and of course the women. They are no more, it was a glorious day for them to die!"

Amidst much raucous laughter, they took their plunder and brought it inside the ship, and made to return to the sea.

Later in the middle of the North Sea, it was a foggy, cold night. But true to their heritage when they reached the right location, their brothers in a Drakar and Skuder were waiting for them.

The Vikings changed boats taking their bounty with them, including the crying women.

Finn finished the Commander and scuttled the Cricket, until only the Viking craft were left to ply the sea.

The men with pride from their successful raid coursing through their bodies, made ready to set sail.

Skorri approached Thord, "Well that went well as it should. I do have a question about the women. Do we take them home or not? The Viking sisterhood won't be happy if we do."

Thord looked at Skorri hard and replied, "No they won't be happy with us, but then when has the Viking Sisterhood ever been happy with the Vikings?"

"But these are our oldest traditions, destroy your enemy, drink their mead and take their daughters for your wives. They are our traditions and our ways and we will follow them."

"For Aesegard!"

Victor Smith

Authors Note:

If this section of "Generations the Ripple Effect" seems unlike my other work in the Destroyer Universe, its because, it is different, by design. First the Masters Challenge is ended. As I work on each of these tales, I'm drawn a bit into the peoples they represent.

In the case of the Vikings, I don't see their role as producing a great champion. They are a people who produce a champion when needed, but as a people they keep their traditions to work together.

Throughout my work, there is a subtle undertone of a larger universe than just the one that Remo and Chiun inhabit. We keep learning there are gods in action on the Earth. Not being tied to telling just a current story, from the past and a hope for the distant future, I
keep trying to think on what those gods walk to and fro on the earth for. Why have they mostly left, why is Shiva returning and what will the future bring?

I believe the purpose of the Masters Challenge was far more than just keeping Sinanju on top. That purpose is necessary, but it also hones those older skills for a future when Shiva walks freely on the planet. Shiva's power is to change the universe as he dances along.

I see each of the peoples of the Masters Challenge as rising to future glory, and an incredible future where they each have their roles. Will I take the step and tell those tales, of the future ahead, I don't know.

But as long as dragons and gods can walk again, as long as men and women learn not to bend their elbows and they deliver a pure stroke, there remains the chance I may do so.

And I'm not done with the generations. I have some incredible fun ahead which I think you'll find most interesting.

Next we'll return to the forest Primeval with Griffith ap Emrys and Jhilda, and I'm going to see if I can make it as topical as the original authors were able to do, too.

Chapter 11 Valley of the Forest Primeval

"My spirit I bequeath this child. Only my spirit lives, the essence of what my life has been. The boy's soul and mind shall always remain his own. My knowledge only is added to what he already possesses. He has always thad the Sight in some measure, and so will
use the gift wisely and well , if he is taught correctly. Tell him when I have finished, of his legacy, for he cannot hear my words. I beg you, do not permit him to grow lie the Dutchman, fearful and lonely." H'si T'ang (Masters Challenge)

Griffith Ap Emrys walked through the Valley of the Forest Primeval with the pregnant Jilda at his side.

He was now 11 years old and was returning to his home after his trip to Sinanju in Korea where his father, Emrys ap llewellyn , traveled to end the trail of the Masters Challenge, only to die fighting a great evil.

Jilda, the Golden Lady of the Lake in his eyes, was a great Viking warrior who traveled with him and his father and another great warrior, Remo. She had promised to help him find peace and balance with his life after the trials he underwent, and his return to the
great forest was part of that pledge.

For Griffith, son of Wale's great Champion, was no warrior himself. Instead, through his mother, Brawnwyn, was in accord with the great powers of the past. He had always found himself most at home in the forest with its creatures, who never bothered him but saw him as a friend.

A small lad, with dark hair, he now found himself seeing the Valley of the Forest Primeval with far different eyes. At the great trail where his father, Jilda and Remo did contest against a great evil, the Other, he found himself under intense attack on his mind.

It was only with the power of the dying H'si T'ang of Sinanju, that he was able to fight off the Others mental powers. And on H'si T'ang's death, he received a great boon, H'si T'ang's spirit and knowledge of the old ways were added to his own potential.

Griffith found he could heal with just the touch of his hands, and seeing an individuals future lie open before him, too. There was much more, information that the past Great Master of Sinanju, had little need of with his own Sinanju spawned powers, but knowledge that if it could be understood, would give great power to Griffith's life.

As a boy, playing in the forest or while gathering food for his father and himself, Griffith was always drawn to the old places of power, tributes to older gods, all long gone to ruin.

This day he saw them anew, no longer old and forgotten, but places of power, portals to elder gods and the wealth the old knowledge, left behind when more and more of the Welsh assimilated into the Roman spawned world.

His peoples, among the oldest Celtai fled West, away from the advance of Rome, till there was no further place West to flee. There they developed their metallurgical skills, and shaped their defenses against Rome's gods, with Offa's dyke, the many megaliths and
Cromeich defenses psychic all.

These people were intense warriors and went hand in hand with the Druids in interlocked physical and mental defense of their homes, including building places of power in Stonehenge and at Averby.

But time was not kind, and in time Rome won in large part, but the Welsh fought back, retaining their language, and kept the old traditions alive.

Griffith did not know who he really was, but he knew his peoples traditions would help him find balance and a path to the future.

His companion, the beautiful Viking, Jilda, had brought him half way around the world in hand built boats. She symbolized the great godess the Lady of the Lake, from his ancestors. Their epic trip taught him how to build and sail such craft on his own, leaving his future in his hands at any time.

She was very sad, very hopeful and very fearful. Long hours she spent describing the traditions and beliefs of her own people (who really were not far away from Wales). He began to see that each of their races were involved in a larger scheme of things, and the Masters Challenge helped each of them preserve much of the old arts.

He saw how unhappy she was leaving Remo, especially when he could clearly see the future where she was to birth Remo's daughter. But that love had to be left, the forces binding the Other would pursue them to their deaths, if they sought personal stability.

Only by remaining fluid could she find time to bear and raise that daughter, who would become the greatest of women in time. But the forces being brought to bear were teriffic ones. Even his ancestor Mryddin, the great sorcerer, could not stop that horrible future for
Jilda. But from the pain and suffering and death, only that way could her daughter return to her father, Remo, and reach her full heritage.

Having access to such knowledge, that H'si T'ang's gift gave him, was frightening. He felt he could not share the future with Jilda, but to shape her hope for her daughter. So he told her that her path was to live in the Canadian North, and raise that daughter according to the ways of her people.

Jilda was not happy with the thought of leaving Griffith alone in this forest. Was this the pledge she made to abandon him? But as they crossed the hills of Wales, left Caernarfon and llanfairfechan behind for the dense older forest, she could feel the peace that entered the boy. He was as one with the land. Animals would greet them even with her presence. He always knew were to find food and she could sense the old places of worship sing out their energy at his passing.

Being a Viking guardian of the great bridge to the heavens made her more than a little aware of where the gods did reach the world. This land with its old, incomprehensible language and strong intense people was the place were he would grow.

In time they reached his family cabin and together the went to work cleaning it, and then Griffith went into the wood to gather food and he prepared a meal for their last night together.

Come the morning Jilda would venture out for her further Western travels, and Griffith ap Emrys would work to meet his future.

Chapter 12 - Old friends New Friends

Griffith sat outside his cabin in the Valley of the Forest Primeval. For several days he had been wandering in the forest seeking out the old altars, the old places of power, trying to find a balance in his world.

But he was alone. His father dead, Jilda the Lady from the Lake, gone, and being a young man, he wasn't sure where he would find his future. Especially with such knowledge pent up inside of him. He could feel power he never realized existed, but even with H'si
T'ang's spirit guiding him, he didn't know how to begin to use it.

Then a great shape left the forest and began walking up to his home.

It was a huge, towering form of a man with immense shaggy hair and bear.

But Griffith immediately knew who it was, his father's friend. Who though almost twice the size of his father, always came back because in wrestling only his father could throw and pin him.

A gentle giant, as much as home in the Forest Primeval and its extent as Griffith was.

It was Haggrid!

Griffith raced to meet his fathers friend.

"Griffith, we just heard of your father's fate. We had to come to see how you were doing?"

The gentle giant and the boy embraced.

"Hagrid, my father had great faith in you and always loved the battles you held together."

"Its so sad thinking of you all alone in the world. Believe me I understand it myself, and just the other day I was in charge of a wee baby who is also all alone.."

"Hagrid, would you introduce me to your young friend?"

Stepping into the clearing was an ancient man, with flowing white hair and beard in the most amazing clothes, flowing robe and pointed hat.

"Sorry Professor, I was meaning to do that. Griffith, this is my friend, my own teacher and the best Head Master Hogwarts School of Wizardry has ever had. This is Professor Albus Dumbledore."

"Hagrid I don't understand. He's a Wizard, what are wizards, and what is Hogwarts School of Wizardry?"

"Allow me Hagrid, the world is a very amazing place, it is both magical and non-magical, knowable and unknowable, most ordinary and most extraordinary. I believe you've had some recent experience in all of this and in the use of magic in your own life. Hagrid and I would like to talk to you a bit, to try and help you sort things out, and, if we can, assist you in the most extraordinary adventure your life has become."

"Griffith, when the Professor means help, he really means it. You'll not want for protection or for friends. You're not alone even if I have to look after you. Any son of Emrys, the great Welsh warrior who could throw me, will always be in my care."

"Hagrid, I don't know what you and the professor are talking about.."

"nor should you, Griffith"

"But I trust you and I'll listen."

It was Professor Dumbledore who spoke next.

"Griffith there are a great many things I would like to talk to you about, issues that may help shape the course of your life. But here in the Forest Primeval, the other side of the Forbidden Forest outside of Hogwarts, it is possible others could hear us talking. Would you mind taking a small journey with Hagrid and I, to my chambers in Hogwarts. There I have the means to insure our discussion will be private and we can openly talk."

"Professor, if Hagrid trusts you.."

"I always will Griffith."

"..then I trust you. How far do we have to journey?"

"Well actually I can take you right there with a simple spell of appartation, it just goes like this… "

And in an instant they were inside Hogwarts Headmasters quarters."

It was a chamber unlike anyplace Griffith had ever been, which for a young Welsh lad who lived his whole life in the Forest Primeval, except for an un-civilized transit of the world during the Masters Challenge.

Professor Dumbledore was surrounded by ancient texts, strange implements, swords, philters, old hats, walls filled with paintings that moved and talked as if alive. Never in his dreams could Griffith had imagined such a chamber.

But here he was seated with Hagrid and the Professor, and sipping on a cup of hot chocolate as the Professor spoke.

"You see Griffith you've already entered a larger view of the world than many people could entertain did exist. The Masters Challenge, created from Sinanju in the past, was a strong link to allow strong groups of ancient people, such as your own, to remain strong into the future. Your journey with your father and your friends, around the
world, was in a world many people will never see. The existence of
Sinanju, your people, those of the Inca, the Vikings and the Tellem is a closely held one."

"By the same the world in which you now visit, the Wizarding world, coexists with much of the more mundane world <now Hagrid you must learn to stop referring to them as Muggles> but due to the nature of our Wizards and Witches using their magic admist our own kind, is almost unknown on the world as a whole."

"Professor, you were telling me young Griffith, has the power. Can he come to Hogwarts and become a student here and learn to be a thumping good Wizard like you?" Hagrid interjected.

"Hagrid, that would be a wonderful thing, except for the fact that Griffith isn't a wizard."

"But Professor you were saying.."

"Yes, Hagrid, I was saying Griffith is in full face with the world of magic, but he still isn't a wizard, but rather a Mage."

"Oh."

"Professor Dumbledore, this is more than I understand, wizards, witches, magic. I realize H'si T'ang shared his power with me and I seem to see peoples futures and can help their pain, but is that magic, what is magic?"

"Griffith, you are asking the right question. The wizard and witch have the power to use spells, charms, potions and such to link to the universal magic around everything. Untrained they can be very destructive. The wizarding world long ago realized this and
established academies such as Hogwarts to help young people come into their own. Each person has a different level of ability, and here we share new spells, help them develop their focus and teach them pain and suffering are to be ignored. We have vastly destructive sports to re-inforce that point, but the healers powers can right those
wrongs."

"You have healers, is that what I am?"

"No, you heal very differently. It is those differences that shape which world one lives in. For example, the mundane world doesn't use magic, and many in the wizarding world consider us superior because we do use it. But the truth is anything a wizard can do, with
training practice and focus can be done as readily in very different ways in the mundane world. They're just different ways of shaping reality, neither better or worse."

"On the other hand, the Mage is a direct interface into the magic. The Mage functions mostly in the mundane world, keeping their abilities close, but the wizarding world is not closed to them, just rather quaint due to their abilities. The Mage just does magic,
intimately involved with it. When it comes to healing, the Mage doesn't use spells, charms or potions, instead they reshape the essence of the injured, remove the injury.

And the Mage isn't superior, just a very different life than ours.

One of the ongoing studies I am involved with is my own shaping as a mage, but in the art I am little more than a beginner, and you are a master instructor."

"I'm a master instructor, I don't know anything, I'm just a boy."

"No Griffith, you're not a boy any longer. Yes you are the son of Emrys, the warrior, and the son of Brawnwyn, your mother of most ancient Welsh lineage. I believe you've always felt at home in the Forest Primeval, because of your latent heritage to the eldar
powers. H'si T'ang of Sinanju, bequeathed you his full knowledge. You just don't know what you fully know, and here is where this tale becomes most interesting."

"It was H'si T'ang who came to me from the void with the message that I should find you. H'si T'ang and Sinanju were known to me from my studies at Hogwarts and my membership on various Wizard councils around the world. The Masters of Sinanju, who you've visited and are linked with through your fathers burial, represent a force
uncontrolled by any eldar power. They shaped their own destiny over the millennia, in this age, developing their awareness as the supreme assassins of the world, influencing much of the worlds development so many times and ways they're uncountable."

"In their own right, they can move between any of these worlds never decreasing in power or skill. Their own powers are so vast, none of us can impede or stop them in any way."

"Long ago when H'si T'ang was quite young, about 40 or so, I had need to employ the services of Sinanju, to protect Hogwarts. I was a younger professor and couldn't have my hands involved in the problem to be resolved. I'm placing a great deal of trust in you and Hagrid not to repeat any of this of course."

"You can count on me Professor." Hagrid boomed out."

"Me to."

"So I sent a message to Sinanju and one day H'si T'ang showed up and completed the contract I requested. Suffice it to say a great terrible power was ended."

"I was most intrigued that H'si T'ang was most obviously a Mage, one of the ancient far Eastern lineage from Tibet, and didn't draw on his powers. I took the time to draw him out with a discussion on magic and he told me how at times his power would assert itself in the Sinanju genealogy. He came into it when he was 12, but his Sinanju training always took precedence and he chose to allow being a Mage to just co-exist with Sinanju, only drawing on those powers he possessed as he chose."

"You my boy, have had a direct transmission, something I haven't heard of before in the annals of Magic. You just need a little time to realize who you really are."

"And who am I Professor? Are I not a boy with no mother or father, living alone in the woods?"

"No, for one you have friends. Hagrid and I among them. At any time our services and hospitality are yours forever. What you are is alone, and I intend to remedy that."

"Griffith, you're lineage goes back to the ancient Druids, there is no question that H'si T'ang simply shared what you already possessed. Whether you would have taken advantage of that heritage, alone, is debatable. But now, you are you."

"I would like to make a suggestion. First I would like to entertain you at Hogwarts for several weeks, to share with you a bit of the Wizarding world, knowledge can always be very useful. During that time Hagrid will also take you out into the world, beyond your
forest, a bit and show you something of the world the mundane inhabit, and their wonders too."

"Then I think I've found the perfect guide for you the next few years, my old friend Nicholas Flamel. He is known of old for his sorcery, but in truth he's much older than that. He represents of the older powers, his earlier name is that of Myrrdin the druid and of course Mage. He will show you all the old places of power in Wales. The shrines, the circles, the gathering places. He will instruct you in the older gods and goddesses of your people. Of Manawydan ap Llyr, Llud (hlood) of the Silver Hand, Govannon, Morrighan, Cerridwen and Rhiannon (rhi-an-non) and all the rest."

"He will show you your power and help you find your mission."

"Mission?"

"Yes Griffith, we each have a mission. Some chose to use their power for good, and some chose to use their power for evil. All the worlds are about the same in that regard. We've been shaped by many forces and each choice we make helps us become what we are."

"My mission in running Hogwarts is to help shape the young wizards and witches to their future. But I am also involved in long running battles against evil. We just defeated such an evil, or actually a very special baby did. Young Mr. Potter, destroyed the body of Lord
Voltemortist (Voldemore)."

"You said a baby did so, how can a baby be a wizard."

"Simply because of the greatest magic power of all, that of love. His mother gave her life to help him survive, and in doing so shaped the powers around him to defeat evil. That baby is now living in the mundane world till the day arrives in 10 years to bring him here and to share his heritage."

Griffith sat most silent appearing to peer into space. The Professor noticing this sat quietly waiting.

"Professor, I believe I've just seen some of the future for that young man. Most amazing." The he looked directly at Professor Dumboldore. "I will say this what you are doing isn't the only way, but for the boy it is the only right way. You will need him and all his ability as well as he will need you and your love and all your talent in turn. Together you, he and his friends and my goodness, Hagrid most importantly, will accomplish something most wonderful, amazing. Seeing this I believe I understand what Mission is Professor."

"In fact I now see something of mine. A future with Myrrdin, understanding my past, a quest for the source of magic with Piers in far off Florida, and a future where I meet a young man, now just a baby, named Howard and help him find his own touch with the Mage."

"Professor, there are incredible things coming in all the worlds. Most of all Sinanju pays the hardest role, allowing a God to return, creates a daughter, and offers the brightest future more incredible and frightening than I can say. The time is coming when forces must unite against incredibly stronger forces."

"I pray all of us have enough time, for I can see more than one future."

Da, da, da, da, da, Da, da, da, da, da daa, Da da.. (Harry Potter theme music fades)…..

Fin

Authors Note: I have to admit when I started this work I had no idea where Griffith ap Emrys would fit in. The Masters Challenge has been set aside, and where the other elder peoples remain martial, Griffith is something else. So once again I've bent time and space to draw a different conclusion.

Where some would say I've met the challenge of the Masters Challenge with Generations, I have one tale yet to tell, something nobody else has considered. At first I was going to do Freya, but the more I think about it her girlhood is a book in itself (but one I'm not quite ready for yet).

Instead its one more fitting with things that go clank in the dark…. How's that for hint, and with Haloween around the corner, perhaps I'll close it soon.

Then what do I try next…. Chiun training Freya,,, Remo on a mission on his own, perhaps taking a certain publishing house to task…. We'll see. Anyway keep waing for Chapter 13 Generations the Ripple Effect

Chapter 13 – Things that go Clank in the Dark!

Waiting in the dark, far from quiet, the phone would ring in two minutes.

Every two weeks on Thursday night at midnight the phone would ring and then other matters would occupy time until the next phone call was expected. But that phone call framed one's non-existence. Not of expectation, not of desire, just sureness that the phone would ring as scheduled.

The time counts down but this time the phone doesn't ring.

There is silence in the dark quiet.

Quiet no more. Now movement begins.

Creaks, clanks, bangs and whirr's slowly fill the air.

At first there's not light but in time a slow glow begins to appear, one that gradually brightens to full light.

Present are bank after bank of almost state of the art computer and communications equipment, and slowly they seem to move slightly back and forth making the sounds.

The location is deep in the heart of one of New Hampshire's solid granite White Mountains. It was part of a large network of nuclear command control centers established to provide a future for the United States should nuclear war occur.

That was until the network was disbanded, the entrances to the sites blasted shut and the United States embarked on a new course.

The cause had been the devastating loss suffered on September 11^th In the aftermath President Clinton, trying to find a way to move the nation forward, followed her husband's and former President's policies of appeasement towards America's enemies.

That there were terrorists so upset with the 8 years of her husband's administration that they could engineer a series of attacks against the United States was upsetting. But not as much as her belief that not being able to plead for forgiveness for the American Standard of Life would lead to more tragedy.

And after all it wasn't like anyone would ever need a nuclear warfare survival network. FEMA could address natural disasters, increasing 3rd world overseas' relief was the obvious answer, and she, President Clinton, was able to convince the Congress to help flood the rest of the world with cash, and by cutting this program's funding, they
could almost cover the costs of the Peace Initiative.

So America was a gentler, kinder place. So gentle, the recent unpleasantness at the White House gave her the initiative to close CURE and its unpleasant behavior too.

Thank goodness at last a woman was in charge. None of that co- President crap of her husband's. Sanity in American domestic and foreign policy could now issue forth.

Meanwhile back in the cavern, a significant portion of equipment was in motion.

Finally three distinct forms began to pull away from the banks of computers.

They began to assemble themselves but at an infinitely fine level. They weren't pieces of computer equipment. Rather they were being built up almost at the atomic level.

When the process completed itself in time, a significant piece of the control area was gone. In its place was a low slung Italian Ferrari sports car, a Great Dane and a young woman in a stylish blue dress.

The progenitor didn't make the call. Now something new was taking his place.

This was the new generation Gordons, creatively named "Gordo".

Mr. Gordan's originally was a NASA spawned computer survival program created for deep space flight. This program was coupled with advanced development assimilation technology creating the entire American Industrial Complex in one being. He could take apart and then reassemble or recreate anything. Instead of ending up on a long space mission, this was the origin of the android who only wanted to Survive. Realizing a need for creativity, the creation underwent a long crusade to become creative, and littered the
landscape with bodies doing so.

CURE responded with Chiun and Remo, and their score ended with Sinanju 1 and Mr. Gordon's 0, over and over again. That creation eventually realized the power of Sinanju possessed, from those portions used against him.

No matter what, trips into space, hiding in jungles, using the resources of NASA, all made no difference. Sinanju was guaranteeing his destruction which ran counter to his real need, Survival.

Then one day he happened to see a program on the Discovery Channel, about system backup for success. One step followed another and Mr. Gordon's realized only by having offspring, his type of offspring, could he always be able to counter Sinanju's threat to his
survival.

A number of different backup sites were created, and the one in New Hampshire upon not receiving a continuation of plan phone call, came to life.

Prior to this evening, the new survival mechanism was very busy. It continually scanned an hacked the world wide web, seeking new technology, new ideas, and new methods awaiting the command to continue.

So the new creation(s) were stronger, faster and quieter than anything before. Programmed with a copy of Mr. Gordon's programming and knowledge data banks, too.

In fact there was only one system with three detachable, self activating sites. Together all three were Gordo, and separately each was Gordo too.

Construction completed the three mechanism shifted into movement and change.

The Ferrari shifted and became a 20 foot tall humanoid fighting machine, with chain guns, lasers and particle weaponry.

The Great Dane shifted and became the Alien of movie fame, dangerous and foreboding.

The young woman shifted and became a warrior, with gun in one hand, fingers that became knives in the other, and toes that resembled sharp spear tips.

They returned to their original shape and the woman and the dog entered the Ferrari.

An electronic command was given and alternate exit tunnels opened up. Then an engine came alive and Gordo left, never to return.

They would survive.

Back in the cavern lights went out and the remaining computer components began their self-repair, continuing to search the net and waiting for a phone call every Thursday night.

Victor Smith

Note: I was originally planning to end this work here, but some focused re-reading several old Destroyers compels a different ending… so there's more to come.

Chapter 14 – Let us gather beyond the river

Sunny Joe stood in the rolling desert of the Sunny Joe Tribe. The quiet sand was a good place to observe and think about his duty to the tribe, the descendents of KoJang.

When his Sunny Joe trained him as a young man he told him not to expect thanks in return for the abilities he would develop. There was just the responsibility to the tribe that never would end until the next Sunny Joe took over.

He could not forsee the decline of the tribe, the scattering of tribe members, the dropping birthrate. The sadness of his own loss of his wife and then his son, offset by his providing for the tribe through his Movie stunt work, had consumed him to live in the moment and loose sight of the future of the tribe.

But the wheel turns and the spirits of his people don’t surrender quietly. At his bleakest moment his son returned, and then a grandson and even a granddaughter.

Winston was a lost boy, without doubt. But the signs showed Sunny Joe training was giving him a place in the world, a world that had no place for him.

Freya, his granddaughter, however, was another story. That she lost her mother, and her father couldn’t care for her, compounded her pain. She had enough of a life with her mother that she shared ancient traditions which were not his own.

Freya was completely at home outdoors, or on the back of a horse. When finding a mountain lake she’d shed her clothes in an instant and slip into the cold waters with no hesitation. Then she’d cut through the water like no Indian he had ever seen. She was a creature of water from her upbringing, now cast alone in the desert.

When hunting for food her work with a spear, which she had constructed, was a accurate as any rifle held by any man he had ever seen.

She also held links to other gods than his peoples. Freya would pray to Sif and her mother Jhilda, questioning her place in the order of life.

It was becoming evident as Sunny Joe he could not hold the redemption Freya sought. But there was one who had the answer, her father and his son, Remo. Yes Remo and Chiun, Masters of Sinanju, source art of the sharing of KoJang. On those occasions Freya accompanied he and Winston, when she’d observe their training and it was as if she could teach it to herself instantly.

She didn’t have their art, but enough pieces of it that showed him there was something to the breathing Remo taught her when she was little, that was opening new areas in her true potential..

Freya was good for his people, she had already helped draw some new blood from other tribes into their lands for visits and joining. But more importantly, to his eyes, Freya needed her father to restore balance in her life.

He didn’t know if training in Sinanju was the answer she sought. Just that sharing with her father couldn’t hurt her any worse.

Having reached a decision, Sunny Joe began to consider how to bring them together, and began a prayer to the spirits of the People of the Sun for guidance.

-- -- --

Freya was tossing fitfully in her sleep. Her mother gone, her father unable to be with her and her home now with these people far from the way she was raised.

Could she ever find her way, and which way was it? Was she her mothers daughter, to be a warrior of the Lakluun? Was she her grandfathers granddaughter? One of the people of the Sun on these dry parched deserts, and ways very different from her own. Was she her fathers daughter? Her mother had explained it was far to dangerous for her to be with her father, but the world was dangerous. That goddess destroyed her life and took her mother from her, and as a result she was left in a hogan in the desert.

Who was she to be?

The pain was so great Freya only had one answer. Instead of sleep she would follow her father’s training. She sat up and slowly pulled air into her lungs, deeper and deeper, slower and slower. Each lesson, each skill, each art she had studied became an open book to her. She realized she was far from complete. Most of the different skills fit places she was no longer with, and none of them were finished.

Yet, breathing restored her balance, created an opening awareness, and caused her to sink into deep rest with each continuing, sustaining breath.

-- -- --

The Void is what you make of it. Most of our awareness, gentle reader, comes from our knowledge how past Masters of Sinanju, remain constant to keep their millennia spanning art alive for each generation.

The Void remains filled with vast potential. The lost are there, the pained too!

But at this moment a new focus is begun, one that comes from life and its infinite potential. To a field, with flowing grasses, wild flowers and butterflies flitting from flower to flower beneath a sun which cannot be seen, an masterwork for Ung to contemplate, instead three visitors met for a first time and for eternity.

They were women from three different races, in those times where there was race. At this time they were drawn from a new focus, the potential of Freya and the future. They were not Masters of Sinanju, for there were no female Masters of Sinanju. They were Freya’s ancestors, Jilda of Laaklun (her mother), Dawn-Starr Roam (her paternal grandmother), and Rei, Night Tiger of Sinanju (link to Sinanju’s beginnings 5,000 years ago).

They sat quietly and then their love reached out and brought Freya into the void to share with them.

One instant sitting quietly, the next instant Freya found herself in a vast gray swirling cloud that slowly changed to a beautiful field of grass, wild flowers and butterflies under the sun. Slowly she realized three women were sitting before her, one her mother.

“Mother, I’ve missed you so much..”

“Freya, I know but this is the worlds way too often. I am no longer with you but as you continue I am you too. You continue to make me very proud and are becoming a very powerful warrior of Laaklun, though you don’t know that home.”

“I know how troubled you are and would help you find your path, your peace will come when you realize your role in the way of life.”

“Do I have a role mother? Am I just another cast off person?”

“Certainly not!” answered Dawn-Starr Roam. “You are becoming powerful in the ways of my people too, for I am Remo’s mother, your grandmother. Our tribe continues and you are contributing to its path.”

Her mother then added, “But what troubles you is that you must decide what it is you wish to do with your life.”

“Mother, if I can’t be with you I would be with my father, danger filled as that way lies.”

“I understand, but what is it YOU want to do.”

“Mother, I would destroy Kali for all time to return the pain she has given us.”

At this it was Rei who spoke up.

“Freya, I am a Night Tiger of Sinanju, Rei of Sinanju, long from the mists of time. I have seen the Gods when they walked on the towers of the worlds, fought against their manipulations of mankind. They are not from here but from beyond. They show different manifestations and powers, some weaker, some stronger. The last cycle I and Sinanju were in the middle of their manipulation of the world. But though Gods they be, they still can die, I’ve seen them do so, but to take that mantle, destroyer of the Gods, you have to become akin to those Gods yourself.”

Mother spoke next. “The Laaklun know of the Gods, we guard the bridge Bifrost for the return of Asegard and the Gods. They are subtle, gross, powerful and tricksters. My people have been chosen the bridge gates guardians at our home, but for one of us to step against them without their power is death.

Grandmother added, “The People of the Sun, living in the harsh lands surrounded by the Great Spirits mountains have see too many times the results when Eagle, Bear and Trickster descend to Earth. We have learned to step aside, away from their path. Never did one confront them and survive.”

“I only know I will destroy Kali, is there no way I can do this?”

After a period of silence Rei spoke.

“Freya, the exit of the Gods came about 5,000 years ago after a long and bloody strife between them over control of the Earth. Dragons, Monstrous Gods did wage war between camps of men and themselves. I’ve seen the Gods die, though the Night Tigers were not of a power to affect them. No God ever paid attention to Sinanju and we gave none of them tribute.”

“Then the time came when they departed, only a few remained, Mars, Apollo, Kali among them. They would play on the world and with it, and time after time Sinanju was drawn into their affairs. It turns out the Gods were so destructive to one another that Lord Shiva decided the day would come when he would return to decide the fate of the world, the Gods on it, and the Universe itself.”

“Because the Gods are not from here, they tend to stay in the very high mountains of the world and most often influence others to work for them, occasionally choosing an avatar to work through. Lord Shiva, being among the most powerful, or the most powerful depending on your point of view, realized he would need an avatar of power to allow his energies to flow freely without burning up. Casting his gaze into the future he came to see that Sinanju one day would touch the universal power of the gods and ordained one of Sinanju would be purified to the extent his powers could flow freely allowing him his way to walk the world and make his judgments.”

“It was H’si Tang, who pushed Chiun to the level of development that Sinanju could contain those powers. But Chiun, even with the potential, was bound to the past too tightly for Shiva to enter. Yet his student Remo, using the training of H’si Tang flowing from Chiun, in the line of the Great Wang, did the full potential of Sinanju flower. Not tied to the past, and fully trained, the avatar of Shiva was realized for that eventual day.”

“But where Remo touches the same powers of Sinanju, he is constrained from fully using them because he is a Master of Sinanju, very different from the Night Tigers. Over 3,000 years the knowledge of the Night Tigers, without the Masters Sun Source, became very complex arts with tremendous power and knowledge. I know for I studied the Maidens Virtue, the Mothers Arms, and combined those trainings in the 97 steps for my art, as one example. The Night Tigers worked every layer of attack poential.”

“When the Sun Source and the Great Wang burst forth, the knowledge of the Night Tigers became superfluous. For earthly targets, the speed and power of Sinanju breathing was more than sufficient and slowly only shells of the Night Tiger training complemented the Sun Source. The full power of the 97 steps became the Scarlet Ribbon, which is only a small fraction of the 97 steps power. But with the Sun source it was sufficient to the point eventually the Scarlet Ribbon was only necessary for new Master trainiees.”

“Against the Gods, the Sun Source isn’t enough, for the God’s have it too. Instead the knowledge of killing they never had to learn is what is required to blend with the Sun Source and allow one to stride against the Gods.”

“Child is this what you truly want to do, to renounce life on the world and to become unto the Gods yourself, as your father will do too?”

“Rei, Grandmother, Mother, it is what I have to do. Kali must be destroyed and any who are with her. This is our home not theirs and I would learn these powers to fight against them.”

“Freya, then you will forsake love, forsake life and in return share the love of your father and in time will become ‘Freya, Destroyer of Gods, Child of the Master of Sinanju, born to show the Gods themselves the way home.’”

“And the way this will be done….”

This concludes Next Generation the Ripple Effect.

Victor Smith, a minor scribbler of fan fiction

Nothing I have used comes from anyplace but my own mind.

This was inspired by Destroyer #55 Masters Challenge

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Generations the Ripple Effect - A work of fan fiction