by Ryan Kirk
Inside the Abbot’s chambers was stillness. The typical bustle surrounding the Abbot was nowhere to be found, replaced by a quiet, meditative silence. Moriko filled herself with the silence. Emptiness was safety. If she kept herself empty she could face the Abbot without fear. She did not underestimate his sense. She kept herself as still as the room.
Moriko put her plan into action. She approached, getting on her knees and bowing her face all the way to the floor. She did not move and willed her body to relax as the Abbot’s sense washed over her. He would find nothing but emptiness. Emptiness and silence, a soul ready to be tamed.
Although she couldn’t see him, she could almost sense his broad smile. She quenched the flicker of hope and anger that threatened to spark the forest-sized rage she felt. She had to stay empty, to let him believe he had conquered her spirit.
“I’m glad to see you have learned some respect, little Moriko.”
The spark was alive inside of her, threatening to burn her plans to the ground. She wanted to stand, fight her last fight and welcome death like an old friend. But her face remained stone, her posture unchanged, her muscles empty. She felt like she weighed as much as ten men.
She felt and heard the Abbot approach. “Sit up, my child, and let’s take tea together.” Moriko obeyed and found herself face to face with the Abbot. Typically one saw him from a few paces away and on his pedestal. He had never seemed this human to her.
“Your lesson was not a pleasant one for me to teach, but I see the effects were worth the cost. I hope in time you will come to see why I had to take such drastic measures.”
Moriko remained silent. She didn’t know what to say and didn’t trust herself to speak without anger. Fortunately, the Abbot seemed to respect her silence. As the tea was served he was content not to speak. He played the role of a kind and gentle father whose daughter had misbehaved. Moriko reigned in her thoughts. She focused on the scar in her abdomen and the fatherly image blinked out of her mind, replaced with her truth of what he was.
Silence persisted throughout their first cup of tea, but as the Abbot signaled for a second cup, he asked her a question, his voice gentle in the silence. “Tell me, Moriko, what do you know of the history of the Three Kingdoms?”
Moriko had come into the chambers prepared for many outcomes, but not one of them included a history question. She took a few moments to put her thoughts together. “Only what I’ve been taught. There used to be a single Kingdom which had lasted for many, many generations. About one thousand cycles ago there was an attempted coup by several of the King’s advisers and the nightblades. The coup was unsuccessful and led to a civil war between the King and the families and holdings of two of the advisers. Even though the King’s forces were by far the strongest, the conflict raged for ten cycles, resulting in the truce which currently holds between the Three Kingdoms. The truce calls for coordination on matters of defense against outsiders, but leave the Kingdoms separate in all else.”
The Abbot nodded. “That is the version that is taught, yes. But there is a fact withheld from these teachings, a fact only the elite in society know about. What do you know of the nightblades?”
That seemed like a silly question. Everyone had heard of the nightblades. How else did parents get their children to behave when they wouldn’t listen?
She warmed up to the conversation despite herself. It was pleasant to talk to someone else even if it was the Abbot. For two moons she hadn’t had a meaningful conversation. She didn’t drop her guard though. “The nightblades were legendary fighters. It was said in the day of the one Kingdom they were wanderers beholden only to the King’s justice. They traveled through the countryside acting both as diplomats and as warriors. They were respected and are often credited with maintaining the One Kingdom for as long as it lasted. However, after the Great War people began to realize how dangerous and evil they were, and they were all hunted down and killed.”
The Abbot nodded his agreement. “As always, there is a truth to the legends. If there was not a truth, they wouldn’t exist in our collective psyche as long as they have. Would you like to know the truth of that conflict?”
Meekly, Moriko nodded. She didn’t want to show the Abbot just how curious she was. All the great stories came from the Great War.
The Abbot started his story. “There are several facts you don’t know about. The first is that the Great War was started solely by the nightblades. It is well-documented that a collective of nightblades poisoned the minds of the advisers. It was this failed attempt that led to the Great War. Apparently the nightblades were not content with their lot in life as wanderers and strove to take positions of power in the Kingdom. The King at the time had many nightblades and dayblades who were loyal to him and stayed in his court, but they were far outnumbered by those who wandered the country.”
He checked to see if Moriko was still paying attention. She didn’t have to pretend. The story was fascinating to her. She had never heard any of this before. The Abbot continued. “The reason that the Kingdom was split in three is because of the nightblades. Even though the King commanded a large army, the nightblades could and would change the tide of a battle, both as commanders and as soldiers. It was a case of greater numbers versus greater skill, and in the end there was no victor. When the advisers met with the King to create the treaty of the Three Kingdoms even they realized they had been duped, and it was decided that the nightblades were too dangerous for the Kingdoms to handle.”
“Thus, the system which has lasted since the Great War was created. Those dayblades who were loyal to the King founded the monastic system that lasts even today. We can trace our own history back to one of the King’s original retainers. Every nightblade and the dayblades who were not loyal to the King had several options. Many were killed in the treacheries of the following cycles. Some went into self-imposed exile, leaving this land for parts unknown. Another group, maybe a third of all blades by some estimates, opted to give up their swords and settle down as peasants. They were stripped of all honor and title, were given a small plot of land and nothing more. They were observed and spied on by those loyal to the King. This is why there are so many people today who still use the sense. It is passed down from parent to child.”
The Abbot paused in his story. He took a sip of tea and studied Moriko. She got the idea he was at the crux of the story, the reason he asked her here, and the reason she was still alive. “Moriko, do you know why the monasteries were created?”
“To protect the Three Kingdoms.”
“Yes, but do you know how small monasteries like ours protect the Three Kingdoms?”
Moriko stopped mid-answer. At first she thought it was because the monasteries created excellent warriors, but that wasn’t necessarily true. Their martial skills were excellent, but they rarely saw actual combat, and couldn’t be any better than those in elite military units. It was the sense which distinguished them, but she didn’t know how it made a difference. They weren’t nightblades. Everyone in the monasteries was descended from Dayblades. She shrugged.
“The answer has two parts. First is that we help control the public and the peasants. The capitols of the Three Kingdoms are far apart and the lands they hold are wide. It would take almost two moons for some capitols to get a main armed force to a revolt. The monasteries are symbols of power throughout the Kingdoms. Even though you know we aren’t nightblades, the sense is still a mythical power to peasants. We work to keep it that way by keeping the paths of the sense secret. Peasants are much less likely to revolt when they believe a supernatural power could be raised against them at any time.”
Moriko understood that concept all too well. She remembered how others had spoken in hushed whispers about her when they thought she couldn’t hear them. Having the sense was a great gift, but it was also a curse among the people as they looked upon those gifted with it as supernatural outcasts.
“The second purpose is to control the sense. Not the power itself, but how it manifests
itself in society. This is our main purpose, and the one your actions two moons ago endangered. We find all the individuals in the world who are sense-gifted and we bring them into our monasteries. Here we are safe and powerful. If we find someone who has the sense outside our walls, we always bring them into our walls because we believe, and the Great War has taught us that the sense is a power far too great to be released into society uncontrolled. The effects it could have on society can be no less than disastrous. History teaches us this as a fact and we always strive to maintain this order. It is why our monks are always out traveling the land, trying to find those who are gifted and bring them here to safety.”
Moriko struggled to remain critical of the Abbot. Everything he said made sense. If nightblades had started the Great War they were too dangerous to be loose. Everyone wanted the one Kingdom to return. It meant certain sacrifices for many children, but wasn’t that better than a war which killed thousands of people? She thought over the story while trying to maintain an empty expression. She found she couldn’t do it. Too much was at stake and she was too interested. She blurted out, “How does this apply to me?”
“Here at Perseverance, as in all monasteries, we guide students in the sense, and we train them in martial skills, but we train dayblades, not nightblades. Do you know why?”
Moriko shook her head. It was starting to crystallize for her now. When she had attacked Goro, she had acted as a nightblade, not a dayblade. But she doubted herself. Everything she had done seemed as natural as running naked through the woods. It had been liberating, freeing, primal.
“Nightblades are too dangerous, both for the monastery and for the Kingdoms. When I saw you starting down the path I feared not just for you but for all of us. Dayblades can’t use the sense in combat, but we can use it to bring healing. What you did was wrong, perverse. I thought you might try to kill all of us.”
Moriko held her head low. She felt like crying. Would she have been able to kill everyone? Maybe. She had felt so strong, so free. Was it wrong?
“Don’t cry, Moriko. I had to be stern, because your crime was severe, but I see great promise in you. You can be a great asset to this community which is why I let you live. Everything is going to be fine. You need to trust me though.”
Moriko was torn. She had come to the Abbot’s quarters with a sense of purpose, a knowledge found through suffering. Her own experience taught her the monastery was an evil place, but the words of the Abbot were very convincing. Although she had never heard his version of history before, she felt it had the ring of truth. Harnessing the power of a nightblade had felt so right, like it was the culmination of all the cycles of training she had been through. It was like reaching the top of the tallest tree she could find in the old woods. It was scary, exhilarating, but freeing.
The Abbot’s tale didn’t deny her the power of her experience, but showed Moriko the long-term error of her ways. Perhaps the monastery was a difficult place to survive, but Moriko was beginning to realize they sat on the edge of a blade trying to both understand and control the sense. That kind of balance couldn’t always be achieved by gentle means. Moriko felt her resolution waver and dissipate like smoke from a fire. She struggled not to cry. It was anger that had given her a purpose to survive, to recover. Without anger she had nothing left.
“Why did you let me live?”
The Abbot smiled and Moriko felt an uncomfortable chill begin to sneak back through her body.
“I was wondering when you would come to that question. The punishment for your offense is typically death, but since the day you came through those doors with Goro, I have believed fate holds an incredible promise for you. I believe you are talented and may be one of the strongest people to come to this monastery in my time here. I needed you to know the truth and for you to make your own decision before I destroy what is a rare gift.”
Moriko’s thoughts raced by, too slippery to hold onto. She had been right in assuming there was something more to the Abbot’s mercy. For the moment she was grateful. Perhaps she had been too rash and had made her judgments too quickly. If the Abbot spoke the truth he had nothing but her best interests in mind.
“Moriko, it is time I introduce you to somebody very important. His name is Orochi, and I believe he will have much to teach you in the coming cycles.”
She recoiled when a shadow unfurled itself at the edges of her sight. Realization struck her like a hammer to the head. In her time at Perseverance she had become used to living with the sense. She used it all the time, in the background of her mind, gathering information on everything transpiring around her. But she hadn’t sensed anyone else was in the room with them. She could sense everybody. That was the point of the sense. She had been under the impression it was only her and the Abbot throughout their conversation. But there were no entrances behind the Abbot’s chair. He had been back there in the shadows the entire time and Moriko had never known.
Orochi was intimidating, his figure larger than life due to Moriko’s surprise and inability to process what she wasn’t sensing. He was tall, at least two heads taller than Moriko, and he was big. Not fat. It looked like it would be impossible to find fat on him, but every muscle in his body seemed like it had been inflated beyond what was possible. He had broad shoulders and his head was shaven.
Of all his impressive features, Moriko was drawn most to the way he moved. It was graceful and silent. She had never seen anybody walk like him. She had heard of giant mountain cats that killed unwary travelers and she imagined Orochi to be their human manifestation. Moriko knew this was a man who could kill anyone. Even the Abbot’s power was nothing but a paper-thin shield compared to what this man was capable of.
The scariest part was that Moriko couldn’t sense him at all. If she focused hard enough she could sense a spider across the monastery, but this man standing in front of her gave off nothing. It was fascinating and terrifying. She could only sense the nothingness faint against the background of life she had become used to. She could locate him, but just barely, and only when he was a pace or two away.
The Abbot was grinning ear-to-ear. Moriko thought of him as an overgrown boy, a bully who existed to make others suffer. Moriko’s terror was apparent. There was no mask that could cover her shock at meeting someone she couldn’t sense. She imagined it was the same expression one would have if they saw a ghost.
The Abbot could barely contain his glee. “As you can tell, Orochi has a special power. It’s not unique in the world, there are a handful of people in the Three Kingdoms who have the ability, but it is useful to this system. Every once in a while, a nightblade develops out in the world. Evolution and chance make even accidental nightblades a certainty given enough time. It may be a militia member with the sense or even a bar-room brawler. Whatever the case, when they develop, it is up to individuals like Orochi here to take care of the situation.”
Although the Abbot didn’t say what “take care of the situation” meant, there was little doubt in Moriko’s mind. Orochi was a killer, an assassin hired by the monasteries to take care of people like Moriko who accidentally discovered their full potential. Moriko’s former resolve hardened in a moment, forged even stronger by the Abbot’s behavior. The Abbot believed he was telling the truth, but Moriko knew there was still more to the story. A man like Orochi didn’t work for the monasteries. Her mask slipped on again and she became obedient as the Abbot hoped and expected. Her face didn’t even twitch when the Abbot revealed his plan, though her mind felt like it had been uprooted and thrown away.
“Moriko, I let you live because I want you to become Orochi’s apprentice.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Shigeru and Ryuu sat across from each other in the hut. Ryuu felt the room contracting around him, his sense focused on his master, the focus of his anger. He clenched and released his fists, the repetitive movement his only release. If screaming or drawing his sword would have helped he would have. But he was old enough to know better. He pushed his anger down with
more anger and forced himself to focus on the conversation thickening the air between them. Shigeru was speaking, slowly and deliberately.
“What will you do if I don’t grant you permission? I am not your father or family, but your master. You have sworn obedience.”
Ryuu shook his head. Shigeru was grasping at straws, trying to bluff his way forward.
“You are my father as much as I am your son.” The words refocused his mind and his anger flashed out, snuffed like a fire with no air. He had said it himself. Shigeru was everything to him. He couldn’t deny it. When he spoke again he felt resigned. “I want your permission. I’m not sure what I will do if you don’t grant it.”
The two sat in silence. Ryuu had been tossing ideas back and forth since they left Madame’s. His anger burned against the wall of rationality he had built over the cycles of training with Shigeru. He craved decision and action.
Shigeru seemed calm but Ryuu could see the emotions toiling beneath the surface. He knew Shigeru too well. A small facial twitch was all he needed to know Shigeru’s mind about anything. Shigeru shared Ryuu’s anger but could bury it under more blankets of rationality. He had more practice.
After days of war between rationality and passion Ryuu made a decision. He was going to go after Takako. She didn’t deserve her fate. He had come to Shigeru in the evening to ask for permission. Shigeru was doing all he could to talk Ryuu out of it.
“You know if you do this you might be making the choice to kill another person. You wouldn’t even be able to use the flimsy excuse of self-defense. This time you are consciously making the choice to kill. Are you ready to make that choice? Is this worth it?”
Ryuu did not respond right away. They were valid questions, and he had spent most of the journey back to the hut thinking about them.
