By mid-morning well into the fourth week, I was sitting in the wagon. Light still played on the clothing of the rider, and his darkly clad daughter rode with him on the back of his powerful mount. There was life all around us; songbirds were in full form, small creatures scrambled from our approach. Tall trees waved young leaves that caught the soft winds. A movement of his arm spoke that this land was his. We climbed higher and could soon see all around us. Almost hidden in the center of this view, I saw a dwelling.
As we came closer, the grazing animals stopped and looked up at us. Birds swooped closer as if to spy, a raven cried from a branch overhead, and wild deer and game stepped out from foliage just to show themselves to him. We entered the walled courtyard protected by a huge wooden door that closed behind us. We stopped first at the barns, and I was shocked by how well I felt as I stepped onto the ground.
The horses were fed and tended, and the young girl took the sword from her father as if he were himself a horse being stripped of brass, blanket, and bridle. As we walked towards the large house, we passed a deep pond of lilies. I could see fish thrash and surge to hold orange heads above the surface. Their wagging tails reminded me of my wolfhounds, which once jostled happily to greet their returning master.
We entered the house through a great hall. Weapons and armor from all over the world lay scattered from far wall to near. I recognized some, but most looked foreign, from a different place or a different time perhaps. Many pieces were just strewn and dust covered, others seemed waiting to be picked up and handled again. There were spears, clubs, short swords, scimitars, slings, projectiles, helmets, shields, and breastplates.
It brought from my memories tales about the dragon’s lair, dark and cavernous, littered with the weapons, armor, and bones of brave souls previously dispatched.
I thought once more of the mythical serpent, childhood dreams and adult nightmares, of journeys ended and journeys begun.
My Mind’s Conclusion
My body’s passage over, my mind raced onward to catch and hold the truth. Days before, lying within the moving wagon, it had fought to grasp reality. It had moved in vision from event to event, and weighed each one heavily against the possible and the probable. It saw the one beneath the shimmering robes that could not hide the strength and power of the man who wore them. It fixed itself upon his flashing steel—a sword described in legend.
My mind saw again the creatures of his land, wild animals that at a glance were tamed by his authority. It seemed that every living thing knew its place, and that he was the keeper of this garden. From lofty sky to waters deep, all awaited and respected his command.
It turned from man to girl, and remembered her skillful touch and unworldly beauty. It reviewed the passing of recent events with care and accuracy to avoid all room for error. It saw again the mixing of the plants and potions and remembered the strength giving magic of her bitter teas. It remembered their pungent but not unpleasant smells, it wandered further and held experience up to reason’s light.
The needles had been sunk deep beneath my mangled skin, and then rotated one by one, but as if by magic no pain did come. Surely this was not possible in any realm of man. Emotion screamed through my careful logic. This was powerful sorcery bound to witchcraft bold and unrepentant.
I arrived at the certainty that I was to be the object of their ungodly rituals, and sweat ran down my middle back. I thought about how to escape, but I knew I was still far too weak. I felt my blood drain instantly from my face, and as if by curse my limbs hung useless. I have never feared death, but now in every corner of my being I trembled, frail and pathetic. It was not my flesh I dreaded losing, it was my eternal soul.
As if on cue they entered the room and stared at me with concern, alarmed I think by my pallor. “Stand away from me,” I shouted. “My enemies have delivered me into the hands of a wizard and his witch. In another time and another place, I would be the one lighting the fires of purification under your feet.” I tried to run but tripped over some canes piled near the door. As I struggled to rise she was beside me helping me to my feet, laughing freely like a child. Then in a solemn tone, “I have heard about the burnings,” she said.
Her father, too, had finished smiling. “Be at peace,” he said, “this is not your time or your place, it is ours. My name is Mah Lin. I am a warrior monk, and the last of my Order. This is my daughter Selah, and in our time and our place she is a respected and skilled practitioner of Traditional Medicine.”
“Merlin, Sea Lass,” I repeated carefully, while they laughed at my butchered pronunciation. “Rest now and grow strong, and know that my sword has called your name,” said the wizard. In my language but with the richness of her tone and meter, “I will show him where he sleeps,” said the witch.
I fell asleep that first night thinking about the life that I had lost, and the life that I had found, and the dreams came back to me strongly.
The Novice Gate
From first breath life had not been easy, for he had arrived at a difficult time. Natural disasters had become the norm rather than the exception. If there was no drought, there was flooding, if there was growth, there were locusts. The last two seasons had been the worst that the living could remember. The land was not forgiving. Seeds perished where they were sown. The heavens were not pleased, and for this the earth now suffered.
In the world of men the rich were now poor and the poor were now dead. Animals starved in fields and people starved in hovels. Human flesh was sold in markets, and this two-legged mutton was cheaper than the meat of dog. This was the world into which he was born.
He was a good child and toiled hard beside his parents, but in these times hard work was not enough to build a life or keep a family together. Side by side father and son scaled the mountain and spoke little. The sadness within his heart overpowered any joy that conversation might have brought. Abject poverty had dictated the decision made. When a young mouth can no longer be fed, an alternative must be found. They had told him about the monastery, and he had seen the orange clad monks on many occasions, but he had never wanted to become one.
Although he was only twelve years of age, he had already found his life’s love, and it was her that he would miss the most. Her family had lived here in the shadow of the mountain temple, they had been neighbors all of his short life, and now he would see her no more. As the climb leveled and the temple loomed before him, so did fate. The tears that streamed down the haggard face of his father fed the hollow feeling in his gut. A hard embrace would be a son’s last memory of the father that loved him but could not keep him. Pushed gently toward the temple’s novice gate, the boy stared down to hide his pain.
He sat alone and empty before the massive wooden doors, and thought about his love. He gathered every detail of her within his mind. The night fell like the cold relentless rain, and as the boy shivered, he vowed in heart to hold her memory.
His solitude was shattered with the arrival of the dawn, for with it came another youth. This one had traveled far and was equipped with a comfortable bed roll and a generous supply of food. The new arrival was not pleased to find another, but with an arrogant look he surmised quickly that his predecessor would offer no competition. Both boys were the same age but very different in both appearance and demeanor.
The first to arrive was undernourished and filthy. His unkempt hair lay matted to his forehead, and the rags that draped his skinny body held the odor of the fields. He looked more a beggar’s child than an aspiring monk. He stared blankly at his surroundings, downcast. Many in this time shared his look, much work and little food had taken their toll. Yet there was something different about him. Something intangible spoke that while everything about him was broken and weak, something within him was not. The boy was glad that although he had nothing, at least he was no longer alone.
The other was well fed and much bigger. Although he had traveled far from the capital, he still had the look of polish. Dirt did not stick to him. In manner he was con
fident and focused. He had prepared well for this moment. He had rehearsed answers for any questions, and knew what qualities these monks were looking for. Now all he had to do was wait quietly for the doors to open for him. He would not fidget or look impatient, but within the hour he did both. He thought perhaps he could intimidate his nemesis and saw quickly that any looks in that direction went unnoticed.
For five full days and nights the boys had sat and slept. One cold and hungry, one warm and well fed, one anxious to begin his life within the temple, and one who no longer cared for his life at all. The rains had lashed down until, late into the fifth night, the clouds cleared and the stars appeared. In the darkness that precedes the coming day, a meteor tore a bright swath across the glittering night sky and crashed far off in the distance. As if on cue, the gates opened and the abbot emerged to see what offerings the harsh seasons had brought his temple.
To the eyes of one, the abbot did not look like what he was expecting. For a temple that was supposed to have a vigorous training regime, this monk seemed small and unimposing. Where he had expected to see muscle he saw little definition at all. This abbot’s appearance resembled more the beggar boy than any soldier he had ever seen. He tried hard to hide his disappointment. The eyes of the other saw something else, and this one, who had seemed so broken, now gazed boldly and directly into the eyes of the old priest.
Rice and tea were brought, and neither lad moved until the abbot took first bite. The youth that sat on the thick bedroll was now politely eating, but the other urchin did not move at all. The abbot pointed invitingly but realized immediately that this small boy cared no longer whether he lived or died.
The abbot focused on the bigger boy, the one that had purposely made the long journey to join the temple. This one answered all questions asked with studied precision. He made it abundantly clear that all his life he had worked toward joining this temple. When the conversation ended, he sat confidently waiting for the outcome he felt was inevitable.
The old one turned his attention to the other and asked only one question, “Why do you want to join our order?” The mind of the youth formed no thoughtful reply. Instead the boy’s entire life flashed before his eyes. In less time than the beating of two hearts, it measured all he had suffered and all he had loved, and ended at the image of his only vow. He answered immediately and honestly, “I do not.”
The abbot’s laughter pealed out like bells upon the mountaintop, and his decision was as easy as it was immediate. This boy was probably trouble, but brought the gift of truth. The other youth watched in disbelief as the doors he had waited so long to enter were shut and bolted. Through the heavy oak he heard the abbot ask, “Your name, son?” and heard the soft reply, “Mah Lin.” He clenched his fists, gathered his rage, and spat upon the closed entrance with all his might.
Without food the homeward journey became a long and bitter march, and with this pain came new direction.
Weapons And Words
Four years would pass with only minor incidents, but this time the abbot had heard troubling rumors, and as he studied the face of the novice summoned before him, he knew that they were true. Discipline is the backbone of any sacred order, and the breaking of its trust could not go unnoticed. Mah Lin was still young and held much promise, but his surreptitious night foray must be addressed. The abbot was a kind man, and the monk before him had always reminded him very much of his younger self, headstrong and impetuous, and indeed a bit amorous. He smiled without explanation and thought carefully about the punishment that he would hand out.
“Mah Lin,” the abbot began as the young monk moved uncomfortably from side to side, “it has been told that you left these grounds at night and sought the arms of a woman.” Mah Lin looked at the floor, a look that was both an answer and a confession. He felt the silk tunic beneath his priestly robes and hoped the abbot did not know of this souvenir. The abbot continued, “This behavior is a bad example to those that look up to you. What could bring you to this reckless course of action?”
Without hesitation the young monk replied, “Love.”
Mah Lin was startled by the laughter bursting suddenly from the venerable one. When the abbot had finally collected himself he spoke in serious tone. “Yes, Mah Lin, love is by nature a very strong force, a force that helps to shape and bind the universe, and it is a force that heals and transforms both the body and the soul.” The old monk’s eyes reflected a journey far back into his own past, and that memory seemed to bring him joy. The eyes of the abbot caught Mah Lin and held him motionless with their intensity.
“From now you will concentrate on your physical training, perhaps if you are tired enough, desire and temptation will be lessened.” The abbot seemed satisfied with his own decision, and then said to Mah Lin, “Report back to me in one month. I need time to consider your permanent reprimand, and I do not want to seem headstrong and impetuous.” Once again the old one’s eyes seemed bright with laughter, and Mah Lin bowing, took his leave.
Mah Lin was confused as he walked down the corridor; the punishment dealt out was no punishment at all, for it was well known that he had taken to the martial disciplines like a bird takes to the air. He would, of course, comply and worry what his permanent castigation would be. For the next month the young monk trained like one possessed, and although his mind still wandered outside the temple walls and to the home of the beautiful woman, he knew that his life’s purpose remained within them.
Under the youthful eyes of the old abbot, Mah Lin set to task. The venerable one had seen potential beneath the outer rebellion of the young monk. Sometimes as it was now, a challenge can be a gift and a punishment merely a test.
For the young monk, the day began much sooner than the dawn. His regime now started well before the sounding of the rooster. Nourished only by a hasty breakfast of rice-gruel and vegetables, the vigorous training of mind and body began with stretching and stance. When the other monks were given time for rest and contemplation, the young Mah Lin was made to learn new and more demanding forms. Sweat rolled from his shaved head and over wiry shoulders, where it channeled down like a river guided by the muscles of his sturdy chest.
If this reprimand was designed to break body or spirit, it did neither, for as much as was thrown on the shoulders of the young monk, he took more. When all his brothers were settled for the night, Mah Lin was still practicing the physical lessons of his day. At its end he would descend to the temple library and sweep the dust from floor and shelf, from here he would move on to the polishing of the weapons within the armory and the shoveling of the coal dust from the temple forge. Only then, filthy and exhausted, would he close his eyes long enough to begin another day.
Time flew by; a month seemed like a week. Lately he had taken to looking openly at the sacred texts and brandishing the temple’s finest swords. It was here in the lamp lit darkness of the temple cellar that both blade and imagination flew. The day arrived when that flight was cut short by the abbot’s stern voice. Mah Lin jumped like a child with a hand caught in the honey jar.
The abbot’s words boomed out, “It seems you are drawn to both weapon and word, but as novice you must drink milk before you eat meat, as child you must crawl before you can run. Sword and literature lie at the foundation of our order, but their proper study requires both time and guidance. Report tomorrow and accept your full and permanent retribution, your month has passed.”
By morning the stark confines of the abbot’s chamber were washed by the soft light of the new day. Mah Lin saw the scrolls hung upon its walls and the gathering of senior monks that sat cross legged where floor met wall. An ancient but exquisite blade had been brought from the temple vault and now lay prominently upon the patriarch’s simple desk.
Mah Lin had never seen this sword, but knew by instinct what it was. Often in the quietness of the nights he had heard of its existence, whispered conversations always wrapped in tones of awe and reverence. As Mah Lin wondered if its purpose was to cut him swiftly from the
Order, the abbot got straight to the matter at hand.
“Mah Lin, you have violated your sacred trust, and your position within these cloistered walls has been assessed. It has been decided that you are to continue your routine of punishment. Your seniors say that you learn well, but there is still much they have to offer. They will break you or they will build you—time will tell.
In addition, you are now the keeper of the forge and the protector of our sacred library. You will be taught the secrets of transforming earth into metal and study with the most venerable the sacred documents which you are now, with your life, sworn to protect.” The abbot lifted the sword from the desk and walked towards the novice, passing it respectfully to the young monk he continued. “This weapon is named The Sword of Five Elements and is the soul of our dwelling. It is your blessing and perhaps your curse. May wisdom guide you in its purpose. Mah Lin, you are dismissed.”
And so, as quickly as it began, it was over. Mah Lin walked from the old priest’s chambers, still not sure what had just transpired. The abbot for his part smiled and conversed with the senior monks, feeling much younger than his many years. He had known all along that this punishment fit the talented offender well, and that Mah Lin was the only one with the qualities needed for the honor bestowed.
Still reeling from the morning’s event, the young monk moved lightly along the hallway and down the stairs. Alone once more, he examined every detail of the sword within his hands, and with the eyes of his soul peered into its depth.
Steel and parchment were now his life’s one purpose, and his spirit sailed upon the winds of destiny.
Raven's Warrior Page 2
