Path of the Divine

by Harmon Cooper

  I felt free.

  Lhandon was sweating by the time we reached the courtyard, the heavy man huffing and puffing as he dropped his hands to his knees to take in a few deep breaths of oxygen.

  “You all right there, pal?” I asked him.

  “It’s such a long walk up. Down isn’t so hard, but up is always a chore. There may be some wisdom in what I just said, but that’s… not helping me catch my breath.”

  I noticed that none of the candles were lit in the monastery aside from a single room near the back entrance. From what I could see of the courtyard, it was clean.

  “Where are the bodies?”

  Lhandon looked at me incredulously. “Why do you think I was so late getting you? I can’t karmically allow the bodies of my fallen brothers to be pecked at by vultures.”

  “You buried them all?”

  “Heavens, no. I cremated them all in our crematorium,” he said, pointing to the southern end of the property. “And I had to do it in pairs just in case there were any relics left behind. Busy day, a busy, sad day…”

  “Relics?”

  “Those who have reached certain stages sometimes leave relics behind once they pass. I’ve seen it before, a pearl in their ash, a figure. The monastery has a collection.”

  “And did anyone leave anything?”

  “Just the Exonerated One. A black pearl. Very rare, but also considered unlucky. I’ve stored it away.”

  “I see.” I nodded at Lhandon, ignoring the loud growl coming from my stomach.

  “Food! I forget you haven’t eaten. Come, I’ll explain everything else over food. It will only take me a moment to prepare; the stew should still be hot.”

  And with that, Lhandon led me to the back entrance of the monastery, where we turned to the kitchen. He gestured toward a single chair at a small table, and he returned a minute or so later with a hot bowl of soup and a hard roll.

  “Eat, I’ll explain everything,” he said as he pulled up a stool.

  I dug in immediately, the soup robust, with a hint of spice to it.

  “The treasure hunters were in search of the items necessary to unlock the Flaming Thunderbolt of Wisdom.” He waved away the curious look on my face. “Please eat, Nick, and I’ll explain everything before you ask any questions.”

  I nodded, shoveling another spoonful of his delicious soup into my mouth.

  “The Flaming Thunderbolt of Wisdom is a sword made of eternal fire. It is guarded by a gate that has a specific set of instructions necessary to open it. The Exonerated One shared a prison cell with a man who knew how to open the gate. Once he was out, he journeyed across the land acquiring the necessary items to open the gate.”

  “Crazy,” I said with my mouth full.

  “While the Exonerated One exploited us for our karma, he tried to balance it out by protecting the Flaming Thunderbolt of Wisdom at the same time. To do so, he found all the items necessary to open the gate. The man, Fist of Force, was able to get all the items but he was still missing the actual map.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said as I neared the end of my bowl of soup.

  “Somehow, he had acquired the mirrored pendant of Danzen, the Mummified Hand of Dolma, and the sand of Armeck, if you can believe that! I still don’t know how he pulled that off to begin with, but he came here looking for the map and I’m afraid…” Lhandon looked down at my soup. “Please, let me get you another bowl.”

  “I’m fine,” I started to say.

  “Nonsense.” Lhandon grabbed my bowl and went to the kitchen, returning with more soup. “Now, as for the map, it’s not a pretty story.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t.”

  “I knew that the Exonerated One had hidden the items to open the gate across Lhasa, and I was well aware of where he’d hidden the map too. So, remember the courtyard? Remember me telling you they’d taken all the monks there and beheaded them?”

  “Sadly, yes.”

  “Before they did, the treasure hunters undressed the Exonerated One and found the map tattooed on his back, which Fist of Force quickly had them copy before the executions began.”

  An idea came to me. Like I had earlier, I first examined the idea, letting silence stretch between Lhandon and me as I did so. Was it really what I should be doing now that I was free? Wouldn’t it be better to leave the monastery and return to the bigger cities in hopes of finding my friends?

  That would be selfish, a voice said at the back of my head. I couldn’t quite place the voice, but it sounded like Dema the dakini.

  “Maybe…” I took another slurp of the soup, letting the idea simmer for a moment longer. “Maybe I could go after the treasure hunters.”

  “You’d do that?” Lhandon asked, wide-eyed. “I knew… I knew there was something different about you!”

  “Do you have another map?” I asked, ignoring the surprise on his face.

  “I…” Lhandon regained his composure. “There was a time where I served as the Exonerated One’s tailor. I’m very handy with a needle and thread, you know?”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “It’s true. I make, or I made, most of the monks’ robes here, other clothing as well, my favorite being ritual clothing. I’ve seen that map a thousand times. I know all the details. Give me a couple of hours to meditate on it and put it down on leather for you. Better to put it on leather than parchment because it is an arduous journey to the gate.”

  “Thanks, that will help. Are there any weapons here?”

  Lhandon shook his head. “No, but I can show you a few things I picked up. Also, there’s one more thing you should know: the map on the Exonerated One’s back is incorrect. He told me about it once, that he’d purposefully had the final leg modified just in case this happened. So you’ll be able to catch Fist of Force and his treasure hunters. While the map may lead them to the area, it isn’t going to bring them directly to the gate. But I know how to get to the gate,” he said, tapping his temple.

  “Good,” I told him, “and thank you for coming to get me tonight.”

  “Thank you for not killing me as soon as I let you out.”

  “You sensed that I wanted to harm you?”

  Lhandon nodded. “You shouldn’t have been put in that hole in the first place. If I were head monk here, I would have tested more of your powers and then caught you up on some of the runes before making a recommendation like that.”

  “Lhandon, you are the head monk here now, at least in my book.”

  He brought his hand to his mouth, trying to cover a gasp and failing. “Thank you, Nick, but I must humbly decline what you are suggesting. I can’t take that mantle. Not yet anyway, not until I’ve done something to earn a title.”

  Chapter Seventeen: Healing Hand

  It took me a moment to comprehend my surroundings once the next morning came. No longer was I in a darkened hole; there was actually light coming in from a cracked window.

  And with my next breath, I recalled everything that had happened the previous night, how I had agreed to go after the treasure hunters.

  And why?

  Simply because it was the right thing to do?

  The only ulterior motive I could think of was that a weapon like that would help me if I indeed planned to go back to Nagchu in search of my friends or possibly to…

  Liberate the slaves?

  I had to pause for a moment once this idea crossed my mind.

  It wasn’t something I’d normally consider doing, but I couldn’t forget the hospitality Altan had shown me, and just how desperate some of the slaves were.

  What if someone was able to free them? What if someone was able to put a stop to Madame Mabel’s iniquitous narcotic business?

  I examined this thought for what it was, steadying my breath as I envisioned how it could play out.

  This was something new to me as well: I could feel the future in my mind’s eye.

  I couldn’t quite see it in the traditional sense of sight, but I could comprehend it, almost reach out and
touch it.

  A knock at the door startled me.

  “Nick, are you awake?”

  “I am now,” I told Lhandon.

  “I’ve prepared breakfast, and I’ve made the map as discussed. We have things to do before we start off on our journey.”

  “We?” I asked, looking up at the portly monk.

  “I cannot let you go alone,” he said. “And I believe you should take the Flaming Thunderbolt, if we can get the items from the treasure hunters.”

  “Take the weapon?” I shook my head. “We… we can figure that out later. You’d actually come along with me?”

  He nodded. “These treasure hunters have killed people that are near and dear to my heart. I am not the best fighter, but I have picked up on a few things, mostly runic, and even if I can’t be of help in a fight, I am useful in other ways,” he said with a humble smile. “If we were in… Massachusetts. Did I say that right?”

  “Almost.”

  “Then you would surely help me get around, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Well then; let’s have breakfast.”

  I followed Lhandon down the hallway to the kitchen again, where he’d prepared quail eggs and carrots boiled in fat. There was bread as well, there always seemed to be bread as part of a meal in Lhasa, and as we ate, Lhandon told me about our planned route.

  “It has some narrow points, especially here and here,” he said, pointing to a trail that circled around a jagged rock. “It will get colder and colder as we move to a higher altitude, so we’ll have to pack accordingly. But we have clothing for this, wolf furs reserved for yearly mountain retreats, or when we deliver food to the hermits.”

  “Hermits?”

  “There are several who have left this monastery to live in the mountains and cultivate their inner powers through meditation. If a storm comes, we may have to go to one of these hermitages to seek shelter. I’ll bring extra supplies for them as well. The hermits don’t like being disturbed, but if we bring food they usually relax. It’s good karma for us as well.”

  “You know, trying to cultivate karma for the sake of karma isn’t genuine.”

  Lhandon bit his lip. “Perhaps you are right about that. There are a lot of things we have done around the monastery solely for the sake of gaining karma. Is this an insight you had underground?”

  I finished chewing my piece of bread. “I believe so, yes. But to be honest with you, those words left my lips before I could fully process them.”

  “Either your mind is moving faster than your ability to take into consideration what you’ve just said, or you are simply channeling profound words. This can happen after deep cultivation.” Lhandon pushed his plate away. “Are you ready? I’d like to test more of your runic knowledge. And I’d like to pass on a rune to you, your first.”

  “You’re giving me a power?”

  He shrugged. “Good karma. Kidding. This is something that may come in handy, and it could help you with this ability you showed during your fight against the Exonerated One.”

  “That was a crazy fight.”

  “You’re telling me! Once you two were up in the air, I seriously thought you were going to win. No one, and I mean no one, has ever been able to match the Exonerated One.”

  “And then he sentences me to an underground cell after…”

  “Yes, maybe that’s the best way to look at it. But you’re out now, and something happened while you were down there, correct?”

  “Yes. I think I went crazy.”

  “Yet you sit before me eating your breakfast like nothing happened. About the only thing that has changed about you is you’re more gaunt now, and your hair is longer. Once it gets long enough, you can cut it like mine,” he said, showing me his bald head and then the ponytail at the back.

  “I’m good.”

  “The monk hairstyle doesn’t fit your taste?”

  “No.”

  He laughed. “Well, I suppose it is best to be frank about things rather than skirt around the edge of true opinion. Come, I’ll clean this later before we leave. I’m feeling rejuvenated right now, which is the best time to pass on a teaching.”

  Lhandon took me through a winding corridor to a room with short tables situated on long steps, a place that would allow someone to stand at the front and lecture. He motioned for me to sit behind one of the tables, and once I did so, he cautiously walked to the front of the room.

  “I’ve never stood in this space before,” he said, taking a satisfying breath in. “I… I can feel the energy here, so much knowledge passed.” Lhandon smoothed his hands over his robes. “Okay, we should begin. You seem to know some ancient runes.”

  “I literally don’t.”

  “Okay, then grab that quill and show me the Lha.”

  “Lha?”

  “You’ve already done this one before, in the courtyard.”

  I pressed the quill against the paper and closed my eyes, letting my hand take over. Once I was finished, I saw the square with a line hanging off it and two curved slash marks.

  “See? You’re halfway there.”

  “To what?”

  “To the rune I’m going to teach you. We don’t yet know how to trigger your power, but I have some hypotheses that we can test at some point.”

  “Okay.”

  “So don’t worry there.”

  “I’m not.”

  “See? You’ve become so modest since going underground,” he said, his genuine tone at odds with his snarky remark. “Okay, so what I show you now will require a demonstration.” Lhandon procured a knife from the front of his robes and placed it on the table behind him. “Please write the character for ‘mo.’”

  “Um, okay.” I closed my eyes again, and once I opened them, I saw a character that started with a horizontal line and a curled, vertical line running from it with an added flare on its backside.

  “Precisely,” he said. “Now watch what happens when you combine these.” Lhandon took the knife from the table and took a deep breath in. He turned his palm toward me and cut a line across it, and after another breath in, he stabbed the knife through his own hand, the tip coming out the other side.

  “Damn, man,” I started to say as he withdrew the bloodied blade, blood dripping onto the ground as his face turned red with pain. He placed the knife on the table and pointed his finger toward me.

  “Lha-Mo,” he said, tracing the characters in the air. A glow emanated from his fingers, and he quickly waved his hand over the injury.

  It sealed up once the light was transferred from his finger to his other palm.

  “Now,” he began, “there’s a limitation to Healing Hand. It can be performed once per day on you or a third party, it lasts for five minutes and you can heal multiple people with it. Before you ask, Healing Hand won’t allow you to bring someone back from the dead.” He frowned as he looked down at his palm. “I’m rather sad to be giving this one up.”

  “Giving it up? What do you mean?”

  “There are certain runic powers that can only be transmitted from one person to another, and once they have been transferred, the first person loses their ability to cast the rune. Healing Hand is one of these powers. But I believe this one could help you, especially with your fighting ability.”

  “I can’t accept it then. If someone passed it to you, then surely they wanted you to have it.”

  “It is good…”

  “Karma for karma’s sake is not good karma,” I reminded him.

  “It was a gift to me by an older monk, who transmitted it to me once he decided on a deathday.”

  “A deathday?”

  “Some monks don’t want immortality once they’ve reached certain ages. This monk was a traveling hermit who would affix himself to monasteries for a decade at a time, giving teachings. He was here when I was a boy, and he took a liking to me. It was a parting gift.”

  “That was generous of him.”

  “It was. But to be honest with you, the only time I’ve
ever used it is when I stub my toe on the stone steps here at the temple. I would have used it the other night, when the treasure hunters attacked, but they were all dead by the time I reached them, and as I said, this doesn’t heal the dead. There are runic powers that are said to bring someone back from the dead, but I don’t know any of them.”

  “I can’t accept this…”

  “You must accept it, and first you must learn to write Lha-Mo. Look at the parchment in front of you. Do you sense how these two could connect? Rather than go through an explanation about how runic characters work together, I’d like to first see if you get a natural feel for how they could connect. Note: not side-by-side, connect.”

  “I suppose you could just replace the stem of Lha with Mo, add the two curved marks above the curl and the final slash mark below it.”

  “Right again,” he said with a smile. “Now, trace it up for me, and once you have done so, I’ll begin the transmission ritual.”

  Chapter Eighteen: Poems in a Cave

  An energy moved through me.

  I blinked my eyes open to see Lhandon seated across from me, his hands in a prayer position as light pooled at the center of his forehead. Suddenly the light was floating above Lhandon’s palm, glowing and spinning as he looked to me.

  Using a pair of chopsticks, Lhandon carefully took the ball of energy out of the air and examined it, as if to bid it farewell. He motioned for me to come forward, and once I came, he pressed the ball of energy into my chest.

  “That should do it,” he said quietly, a soft smile on his face. “Ready to test it?”

  “That’s it?” I asked, looking down at my own chest, figuring I’d see or sense some difference.

  “Were you expecting something else?”

  “I was expecting some kind of, I don’t know, electric feeling or something.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

  “No, it’s fine, and I appreciate it.”

  Lhandon rubbed his hands together. “Good, then it is time to test your ability.”

  “With your knife?”

  “Would you prefer another knife?”