by Paul Heisel
Owori crossed her arms, hiding the tattoos. She wished she would have worn her gloves and not shown Kara any interest in this latter part of the conversation. Truth was, she was intrigued by her tattoos and not know why they were started and never finished. Plus, it frightened her to think that her parents had allowed someone to start tattoos on her. How could they let that happen to a child? “I can’t do anything else.”
Kara stepped forward and reached out. Owori understood and put out her hands, and Kara grasped them. Owori found Kara's hands were warm, her palms rough with calluses from handling her katana and other weapons. For a moment, the two women stood face to face, as if an otherworldly barrier between them had been broken.
“You need to come to Bora and learn from us.” Kara squeezed. “We can expand your abilities. We can find out what your other talents are and maybe we can find out why you have the beginnings of tattoos on your hands. All I ask is that you come and stay with us. Live with us for a while and decide for yourself. Once you see the results, you won’t want to leave. Say the word and I will contact the Grand Master and make the transfer official.”
Owori contemplated her answer. She didn't want to go to Bora. She held back the acidic tone and said, “My answer, for now, is no.”
“Please think on it. Have a good evening.” Kara released her hands, went to the door and departed, shutting it behind.
Owori remained there lost in thought. It was true, she had wondered about her tattoos for years, why they weren’t finished and what they represented. They were tails of a scaly creature, like a reptile, some lizard. Why had someone given her tattoos? Why hadn’t they finished them? Why had they progressed to the same extent on both hands and stopped? It made more sense to her that the artist would have finished one tattoo, then they would have gone on to the next. Hers were identical and unfinished to the same point.
She admitted, though she didn’t want to, that Kara’s offer had appeal. Magic was rare, an uncommon gift, and it was well known that few could teach it, much less understand it. Bora would be a drastic change, and the prospect of learning more about magic was intriguing. Still, she didn’t like Kara and didn’t trust her. She was an aberration despite the pretty exterior, sweet voice, and promises of making her dreams come true. It would be a dark day in hell when she went to Bora. Damn dark day. Owori went to her desk where more reports awaited her attention. Later, she would roam the castle to make sure all was well, haunting the halls because sleep didn't bring her what she was missing. Feln.
#
Time passed and the Accord of the Hand teams replaced Owori, Kara, and Gargam with appropriate administrators, political advisors, and commanders. Kara didn't bring up her offer again. They, other monks, and warriors were ordered to return to their monasteries. Owori took a strong horse from the Borgard stables and made her way back to Waskhal with a small group of fighters. The group decided to travel at a moderate pace, never stretching the days too long or making the mornings to early. She was pleasant and conversational with the others from her monastery, but she kept to herself much of the time. Her thoughts were of Feln. Hope motivated her, Feln had to be alive; he was in an inexplicable place, she just had to find where he went. She missed him, her best friend, her love. No matter what, she wouldn’t give up looking, nor would she give up hope.
She arrived in Waskhal and was received with no fanfare. This was what she preferred. Although it had been a great honor to play a role in the capture of Jakks, the halting of the war, and the occupation of Borgard, she didn’t want it to define her. She was a talented scout who could operate by stealth and cunning, one of the best per Caleth, and she would continue to perform her duties as needed. They had avoided disaster this time, and she hoped the Accord of the Hand had learned from this short conflict.
With her traveling articles put away in her wooden locker, a good night’s rest in her own pallet, and her normal robes donned, Owori wandered around Waskhal. Not much had changed since her departure months ago, except there were vacant barracks and cloisters – whole battalions of soldiers had been killed, platoons of their monks had been lost. The sacrifice had been worth it, had they failed they would still be fighting against the Borgard armies. Sabrin would be in ruins, she was sure of that, and the Empire would be on the brink of destruction. By now the other monasteries would be under attack, their leadership scattered, and their people suffering. They won, but it didn't feel like it to her. She had lost Feln and the reality of it finally sank in despite her enduring hope.
Sunlight warmed her as she sat in the lush gardens surrounding the monastery. The late summer blooms were fragrant. The lavender aster swayed in the gentle breeze, and from her seat, Owori picked one of the flowers. She spun it in her hand for a short while, then put it in her hair as it matched her ribbons. Around her, the rustic buildings came to life as their occupants started their day. She could hear the weapon’s master instructing a class, bright and early, his voice ringing through the open windows. Metal clanged on metal. The eating hall was overflowing with those trying to get a quick bite before their everyday jobs started. Though her head told her that she needed to eat, her broken heart left her empty except for nervous tingles. For a few weeks now she hadn’t been able to eat much and she had lost more weight than she should. Training kept up her strength, yet she felt like she was wasting away.
From her vantage point in the gardens, she could see others walking and talking, groups of five or six meandered along the avenue. They were going to jobs, to classes, and to help with other chores in the city. Owori took all of it in, realizing how big Waskhal had become. The city had grown over the years, expanding in every direction and bringing with it all the advantages and disadvantages of growth. Yes, there was prosperity and jobs and a robust local economy, but there were also criminals, the misfortunate, and the constant refuse a city this size produces.
They were part of the Accord of the Hand, an expanding empire that few kingdoms dared oppose. They had proven themselves again by defeating the Borgard threat, and with that would come peace, along with the loyalty of the Borgard lands. She wondered if the expansion would stop anytime soon, and her guess was that it wouldn’t. For as long as she could remember, the Accord of the Hand had been aggressive in obtaining lands and resources; those resources were what the Borgards had desired and what had led to the conflict. It was sad the Spirit Ones had been sacrificed to bring about that conflict.
“Welcome back.”
Owori turned toward the voice. It was Caleth. He stood there in plain brown robes, his sandy blonde hair matted down with water. His face and beard looked rougher than usual. The tall monk bowed. Owori did the same. “Well met Caleth.”
“Well met Owori. Through various means I’ve heard Feln didn’t make it. I’m so sorry. I know how close you two were. He was like a brother to me, and I'm deeply saddened. He will be missed.”
Owori nodded and fought back her emotions. Her insides turned over and no words came out. Having Caleth say that broke her heart again. She clenched her teeth, steadying her trembling body. “We can’t find him. One moment he was there, then the next he was gone. I searched and searched, but I couldn’t find him. We can’t even find his body. No one knows what happened, even the Borgard soldiers can’t explain where he went. He just vanished.”
“Do you think he's alive?”
She nodded, stifling the ‘yes’ she was trying to say. In went a deep breath that she needed so badly to keep her composure. After holding it, she let it out. “Yes, but I can’t explain why. I just have this feeling he’s alive.”
“When you’ve had time to get your life back to normal, please come see me. There’s a matter I would like to discuss with you.”
“Certainly. I’ll come at once.”
“No, I want you to take today and reflect on Feln, and put his disappearance into perspective. Not behind you, but in perspective. If you still have hope, then hold on to that. I don’t want that to drive you, though. Waskhal needs
you as much as Feln does. Tomorrow morning, come see me and we'll talk.”
“I will.”
“If you wish, you may take stock of Feln's possessions. I will allow it.”
Owori nodded, remembering that deceased monks and soldiers, who didn't have families, had their possessions distributed amongst the order and anything that remained would go to the needy. Technically she wasn't family, but Caleth wanted her to have another measure of closure.
Caleth departed. Owori knew he was going to make his rounds, visiting businesses and the critical ministries of the monastery. He would also spend two hours training with the elite fighters; training would be the same for her. Familiar sights and smells inundated her, it felt good to be home, and she was relieved that Caleth had a task for her. She wondered what Caleth wanted to tell her. She had been out of direct communication with Waskhal too long. With the war being over, she couldn’t guess what it was.
Dread filled her as she went to Feln's quarters in the monk cloisters. His locker was there, a wooden chest wide enough to store a katana, deep enough to hold high boots, and wide enough for anything else. Except for his katana, which was missing with him, everything about Feln's life was in that locker. She opened the chest, it wasn't locked, and took a few moments to gaze at the contents. Clothing, shoes, books, and trinkets were neatly arranged. Upon initial inspection, she didn't see anything significant that she wanted to keep, even as a token of remembrance. Nothing had meaning. She was about to close the locker when one of the books caught her eye, and it made her pause. There was no title, it was tattered and bloated because of loose pages shoved in several places. It was his diary. She picked it up, it felt heavy, and she stood there motionless, staring at the cover. She didn't know what to do. Holding on to hope that he was alive kept her from reading what he had written; his innermost thoughts, maybe his desires or wants were in the diary. She hugged it tightly to her chest. I'm keeping this so I can give it back to you.
For the balance of the morning she walked around Waskhal, talking with people she knew. Everyone was sad about Feln. Many wept at the news, several comforted her with hugs. Everyone had liked Feln and it didn't make it easier for her to be the bearer of such news. She ate, stored the diary in her locker, and changed into a fighting ghi, then went to one of the arenas to train. There she joined a group of monks and trained vigorously to get her mind off Feln. They began with exercises, light punches, light kicks, and throws. The routine was scripted. It was the same each time to build speed, power, and memory for both the body and mind. The skill work changed into full contact, unarmed fights. She did well at it, but training didn’t have the danger of real battle, nor did it lend to creativity except for getting in and out of holds.
Weapons training came next and Owori was getting tired too quickly. The time at Borgard castle behind a desk had softened her. She worked with two blades at a time, then switched to a staff and a long spear for variety. The longer weapons were more difficult for her to control, yet she kept working at it until her arms were numb and she was satisfied with her performance. Though the twin khukuris were more to her liking, she knew to be a good warrior you had to be familiar with all types of weapons. Tomorrow she would work with longer blades and use bows to hone her archery skills, a proficiency she had neglected. After training, she cooled off with water and washed the sweat from her body. She returned to her room and rested in the late afternoon, spent from her long, active day. She was exhausted and sleep came easily.
#
The next morning she stripped her bedclothes off and put on the black leather outfit split at the seams, the one Feln had failed to compliment her on, and cinched the side stitching tight along the contours of her of her leaner body. She tied back her hair with a black ribbon and put purple ribbons on her sleeves. This was her special outfit; one she would wear to remind her of Feln. She went to see Caleth. By this time, he would be in his office having early morning tea. The anticipation made her walk quicker, and she reflected that life in the monastery was what remained for her, and she was determined to throw herself into it. It would distract her from missing Feln until she could definitively find out what had happened to him. She wouldn’t give up hope, and no matter how ridiculous any possibility appeared, she would consider it. On her way to see Caleth, passing monks greeted her pleasantly. She noticed there were those who turned and watched her walk by, which she found curious. Was it the outfit? Was it too odd? Was it too much of a departure from common robes? She couldn't be expected to wear robes all the time, could she?
The residence of the Master of Autumn was ahead. It was a solidly built structure of stone and mortar, having served as the first church in Waskhal. It was old, how old no one knew. The roof had been repaired many times, and a fire ten years ago had gutted the entire place. It was the primary offices for the Master of Autumn and his advisors to administer the workings of the monastery and the city. The old cemetery, adjacent to it and ringed by an iron fence, had run out of room for burial plots ages ago. Owori walked through the foyer and into the old church. The plaster walls had been restored after the fire, and only a handful of painted frescos had survived the heat and flame. The fire had burned the interior contents and the roof. The walls, stone, had been unaffected by the blaze. The stone cobble floor had cracked in places from the heat, and to hide the damage, simple woven carpets and rugs had been put down. Two monks were at the front, receiving guests, and behind them was the heart of the church that had been converted in to various work areas.
The monks seated at the doorway waved her through. There was a partition made of wood, decorated with metal iron scrolls, that she went past. Beyond was what had been the primary place of worship in Waskhal for centuries. Owori wasn’t sure how long ago the monastery had abandoned the strict religiousness of their order, but she suspected it probably coincided with the separation of the Accord of the Hand and the Accord of the Spirit. The religious monks went one way, the warrior monks the other. She walked to the offices on her left and could see twelve tall columns supporting the roof. Beyond were old crumbling frescos that she thought should be torn down. This one had faint outlines of two circles, both light red and they seemed to overlook the washed-out landscape. She had never figured out what those twin red objects were, and it made her wonder what the church had looked like when first built.
She went through a doorway and into the rectory where Caleth and TeBroo worked alongside the team of administrators, city representatives, and business managers. Owori hoped Caleth would understand her arriving this early. After all, it was the morning and he didn't specify the exact time she should meet with him, so she took the liberty of making it an early meeting. Owori rapped on the old wooden door, noting the scars of time. Dents spoke of furniture being moved in and out. From behind the door, Caleth’s voice called for her to enter. She walked through, shutting the door tightly behind.
Caleth was behind a desk. His hair was messy. He was stooped over and gazing at a document. His broad shoulders made the small desk seem even smaller. A robe, one reserved for the Master of Autumn, hung on a peg behind him. There were paintings, old and damaged, hanging on the walls. The floor beneath her creaked as she walked, the painted wood scuffed by the constant traffic. Wooden chairs lined the walls. Curiously, the windows to the outside were covered with shutters. Lanterns burned fuel, throwing off light for the room. Owori thought it odd that Caleth wouldn’t use the natural light from the windows. Caleth looked up.
Owori bowed.
“Well met Owori. Is everything all right?”
“You said to meet with you in the morning. It's morning, so I'm here.”
“I didn't mean as soon as the sunrise greeted us. You could have come after breakfast. Are you sure everything is all right?”
“I’m fine. Master, I need activity. I need to occupy my body and mind, otherwise I’ll go crazy thinking about Feln.”
Caleth motioned toward a chair. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
&
nbsp; Owori did so, sitting up straight, then leaning toward Caleth’s desk. “What do you have for me?”
“Directness was always one of your gifts, and I appreciate that. Although I'm sure others have a difficult time understanding your personality. Why don’t you tell me what has been happening the past few weeks? I’m interested in hearing how things went in Borgard. I'm particularly interested in hearing the rumors about Kara.”
“Of course,” Owori began, “no sense in leaving out any details either. And I’m not exaggerating.”
#
The story gave way to the original reason Caleth wanted to talk with Owori. Before they discussed what was coming next, Caleth summoned another monk who brought them bread and hot tea. The young monk who served them gave Owori a look that made Caleth chuckle.
“What is so amusing?” Owori asked.
“If you walked around Waskhal in that outfit, you would have every eye gawking at you. The men would be in awe, the women jealous. I must say you look rather radiant. The outfit is daring enough to make everyone think about you, good or bad. Tell me, are robes too boring for you now?”
“It reminds me of Feln,” she admitted. “He is so interested in Pyndira. This is a fashion from one of the books in the library. I thought it would make him notice me.”
“I understand,” he said quickly. “You two were…very close. I understand.”
“Something like that.” She took a breath. “Close enough.”
Caleth took a sip of his tea from the bowl, his hair dangling close to the brew. He brushed his hair aside with his hand and sipped the hot drink. The Master of Autumn sat up and looked at Owori.
“What is all of this leading to? The other matter?”
“Of course.” Caleth’s eyes flitted about the room and he shifted in his chair as if he was deciding. He stood up and put on the Master of Autumn robe, tying the sash tightly. “Let’s take a walk and get some air.”
Owori said nothing and she followed the Master of Autumn out the door without further discussion. If they were going outside of the monastery to talk, then it had to be important. It probably was secret.
