Gifted

by Richard Bard

  The blades sliced through the bridge’s first two support ropes without slowing.

  “Shoot him!” the boss man shouted. The guards at the front raised their weapons.

  But the monk never stopped moving. He maintained his low-slung stance as his upper body twisted smoothly to one side, the spinning blades glinting as he swept them downward through the two remaining support ropes on his left. There were loud snaps as the taut lines gave way and the left half of the bridge collapsed.

  “Nooo!” the boss man shouted as the planks beneath his feet dropped. He and his men abandoned their weapons and grabbed for the remaining handrail. Several of them didn’t make it.

  The monk’s upper body moved fluidly to the opposite side and the blades followed in an arc that severed the remaining two ropes.

  The bridge snapped like an overstretched rubber band, causing the boss man and the remaining guards to lose their grips.

  The monk stood motionless, his body balanced in a forward crouch, his arms and swords extended behind his body as if cocked to swing forward again if the need arose. His eyes were closed. The chorus of screams from the falling men echoed up the canyon walls and sent chills up my back. They cut off suddenly, and then the only sounds I could hear were the pounding of my heart and the sharp intakes of breath from my sister and Ahmed.

  No one moved, until the monk stood to his full height and whipped the swords in a smooth arc and slipped them beneath his sash. Then he folded his hands in prayer, bowed toward the chasm, and sang a chant. I didn’t understand the words but the rhythm and tones were soothing—and filled with pain.

  Finally, the monk put on his robe and turned to face us. “I am deeply sorry for the loss of your friend. He showed tremendous courage on your behalf. His actions honored both himself... and you.” His look lingered on the mini in my hand and his eyes narrowed. I reached into my pack and placed it in its case.

  “I’ve been watching you on and off since your plane crashed,” he said. It was him I’d sensed during our trek!

  “You’ve all been through quite an ordeal,” he added, “and you performed exceptionally well in the face of extraordinary circumstances. I only wish I’d interceded sooner. I’d thought you all were safe when you made it across the bridge. But when your friend ran back over…” His voice trailed off.

  “Thank you for saving us,” Sarafina said, wiping a tear from her face.

  Ahmed dropped to his knees at the cliff’s edge with arms outstretched over the chasm. “To Allah we belong and to Him is our return,” he said. It was a translated verse from the Qur’an. As he continued he switched to his native tongue of Dari. I couldn’t understand the words, but when he unclipped the two magazines from his belt and tossed them over the edge, I realized that in addition to a prayer of peace for Timmy, he was also seeking forgiveness for his own shortsightedness. He must’ve blamed himself for not having given the ammunition to Timmy when Timmy ran back to retrieve the weapon. Of course, I knew it wasn’t Ahmed’s fault that Timmy was dead.

  It was mine.

  The monk lowered himself to his knees beside my brother. He closed his eyes and his lips formed soft words I couldn’t hear. Sarafina took my hand and we knelt down beside them to offer our own silent prayers.

  After several long minutes, we rose and stepped clear of the edge. Ahmed turned to face the monk. “What you did just now...the way you moved? It was as if Allah himself guided your blades. You delivered justice in His eyes.”

  The monk bowed. “I pray you are right, my son,” he said, his eyes going distant for a moment. “I pray you are right.”

  He started up the path and motioned for us to follow. “Come. You will be safe at the monastery.”

  Chapter 14

  IT HAD BEEN A LONG and quiet march up the mountain, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I couldn’t shake the emptiness I felt over Timmy’s death. Or the guilt. Ahmed and Sarafina had given up trying to get me to talk about it after the first hour or so, though from their glum demeanor I knew that they were also haunted. I’d drawn into myself and they knew from experience it was no use trying to coax me out of it. I’d not spoken a word, even when the monk had introduced himself. His monastic name was Shi Yan Du but he’d asked us to call him Little Star, after the nickname his mother had given him as a child.

  “I may no longer use my monastic name,” he’d said without further explanation.

  The dawn sun was just peaking the mountain when we first saw the monastery. It was breathtaking, like something out of a storybook. The multilevel structure was perched on a huge outcrop of rock that stair-stepped beneath the peak of the mountain, its golden, pagoda-style rooftops glimmering under the sun, a rolling ocean of green forest surrounding it, stretching as far as the eye could see.

  “It’s beautiful,” Sarafina said.

  “It has been home to my order for over fifteen hundred years,” Little Star said. “I have lived here for forty-five years, since the age of twelve.” He picked up the pace. “If we hurry, we will be able to join the others for first meal.”

  Thirty minutes later we were seated in a grand hall eating with a couple dozen monks. We sat on cushions surrounding a long wooden table. Bands of sunlight angled into one side of the room from narrow windows at the vaulted roofline, illuminating walls adorned with ancient murals. Little Star was seated at the other end of the table beside an elderly man with a long white goatee and friendly eyes. He’d been introduced to us as the master of the order, and he and Little Star were deep in hushed conversation. The topic seemed to be Little Star’s twin swords, which had been placed on a side table. The mood was somber, and when I looked up from time to time I caught several of the monks casting curious glances my way. It made me feel uncomfortable so I focused on my food.

  The vegetarian meal was small but filling, and flavored with only light spices. Ahmed sat beside me and Sarafina sat across from us. She pushed her half-finished plate away. “I can’t stop thinking about Uncle Timmy,” she muttered.

  I shared her feelings but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to look her in the eyes. If I did, I was sure she’d see my guilt and then a new round of questions would start. I figured as long as I kept eating, they’d leave me alone. So I raised my bowl of soup to my lips and took a long sip. The clear broth was hot and flavorful. There were several walnut-sized dumplings swirling in the bottom of the bowl, and I used my finger to maneuver one into my mouth. It had a crunchy vegetable inside. It tasted good so I slurped in another.

  “Me, either,” Ahmed said, gently pushing my sister’s plate back in front of her. “But we must eat. We need to build our strength for whatever lies ahead.”

  She shook her head, staring at the plate with trembling lips.

  “Your brother is right,” Little Star said, sitting down beside her.

  I tilted my bowl back and two more dumplings slid into my mouth.

  “Take a lesson from Alex,” Little Star said. “He honors his friend by enjoying his food.”

  I kept my eyes buried in my bowl.

  “It is normal to be sad over the loss of a loved one,” Little Star continued. “There is a part of us that feels guilty at the prospect of not keeping them constantly alive in our thoughts. But to embrace their memory in every waking minute starves one’s soul. Instead, set aside a moment of prayer each and every day to acknowledge your friend’s sacrifice and to mourn his loss. Look forward to that moment throughout the day but do not dwell on it. Permit yourself to smile when you think of him and recall the fond moments of his life. Is that not what he would wish?”

  Sarafina’s expression shifted ever so slightly, and I had the sense Little Star’s words had struck a chord within her. She picked up her chopsticks and scooped up a bite of rice.

  Ahmed appeared thoughtful. “Remember what he said when he woke up in the plane and found us sitting across from him?”

  “‘Holy crap,’” she said. “He was like Uncle Marshall that way. They both liked to say ‘holy c
rap.’”

  “And ‘dudes,’” Ahmed added.

  Sarafina’s smile was brief, but real. A piece of rice tumbled from her lower lip.

  Ahmed finished the thought. “When we were parachuting on the pallet toward the jungle and his head popped into view, he said, ‘Dudes, I can’t believe that worked!’”

  They quieted again, and I sensed that the weight of Timmy’s loss had eased somewhat. Little Star’s words had rung true for me, too, and I promised myself I would say a prayer for Timmy each night. I set down my empty soup bowl and started in on a piece of orange-colored rice cake, doing my best to push my guilt aside.

  As we ate, Little Star commented on the colorful murals adorning the walls on the far side of the room. He pointed to several that contained scenes of ancient Chinese battles, lines of soldiers clashing, leather-armored warlords atop rearing horses, bloody swords slashing, archers launching arrows from crossbows, men impaled and dying. Each scene included a scattering of monks wielding staves, swords, and other weapons, all of them wearing the same colored tunics as those worn by the men around the table.

  “As you can see,” Little Star explained, “our history is steeped in the practice of martial arts. Each of us trains daily, beginning with the day of our arrival as children and ending only when age prohibits us. When our order was established centuries ago, our vow to protect the surrounding countryside had a far different scope than it does today. That is the heritage my brother referred to on the bridge.”

  “He was your real brother?” Ahmed said. “I thought he called you brother because of your robes.”

  “He was my brother, the eldest of the family.” His eyes twitched and I realized he was pushing his sadness—and guilt—aside, just as he had advised us to do.

  He had killed his brother to save us.

  Little Star continued, “Like most regions across the globe, China was a lawless territory for much of its history. Encroaching warlords and raiders were a common threat and we were often called upon to do battle. We used our skills mercilessly and earned a reputation as fierce warriors.” He pointed to a scene depicting monks fighting oddly dressed pirates. “In one famous encounter, forty of our order joined eighty monks from other temples to confront a formidable band of Japanese pirates. We defeated most of them in a bloody battle and chased the stragglers toward the sea for ten days, slaughtering them along the way until every one of them had been killed. Only four us of lost our lives in the encounter. News of our prowess spread, and it wasn’t long before raiders chose to seek simpler fields to harvest.”

  He motioned toward the wall behind me. I followed his gaze to discover the sun had shifted, and the wall, previously cast in shadow, had come to life. Where the other murals spoke of battles and bloodshed, this wall displayed the wonders of nature. It was a lush landscape of jungle, mountains, and forest, teeming with life. There were deer, boars, monkeys, rabbits, butterflies, birds, and other animals I didn’t recognize. But what stole my breath was the scene that dominated the center of the wall, of a child monk seated among a family of bears. I approached the wall and the monks stilled behind me. I ran my fingers over the images of the bears. I was reminded of Mama Bear and her cubs, and of the other bears being tortured in tiny cages.

  Little Star walked around the table and stood beside me. “It depicts an ancient legend of a time when bears and men were bitter enemies. Village warriors hunted the bears to near extinction, until those remaining joined together to fight back. Marauding bears terrorized the countryside, tormenting villagers by stealing their children, who were never seen again. This continued for many years, until one day a child monk was taken. Unlike the other children, the young monk was not frightened by the bears. Instead, he embraced them with his pure spirit, frolicking with their cubs and learning their ways. In the end, the bears were enchanted by the child. They returned him to his village and the monk taught his people to respect the bears rather than hunt them, until finally man and bear learned to share the jungle in peace.”

  He placed a hand on my shoulder and guided me to the center of the room. He waved to Ahmed and Sarafina and they joined us. Everyone else had stopped eating to watch. I looked at the elderly monk at the head of the table. When he smiled, a wave of warmth washed over me.

  Little Star pointed at the other murals. “If you look closely, you’ll see that our respect for the bears has been a cornerstone of our order since the beginning.” My eyes narrowed as I studied the walls, and it was like I was seeing the warlike pictures for the first time. Only this time I realized there were bears hidden in every scene, huddled behind rocks, beyond the trees, peeking from caves, always close to the monks, as if they watched over them. In one scene, a bear ran amidst the monks as they charged the enemy, his maw snarling.

  “The bears taught us many things,” Little Star continued. “In fact, many of the movements we use in our training are modeled after them. But in the end, the most important lesson we learned was to appreciate life like the villagers did in the legend. And while our order shed much blood for most of the years of our history, we have since taken vows to leave that part of our past behind us. We still train and practice, but we have sworn that neither our weapons—nor our bodies—will ever again taste flesh.” He paused, and I suspected he was reflecting on what had happened on the bridge. When he spoke next, his words contained an undercurrent of anger. “And now the world has changed, and raiders with spears and swords have been replaced by drug lords with assault rifles and no regard for the sanctity of life. So we do what we can to protect the animals that are our family. You saw what they were doing to them on the farm.”

  I looked up at him, amazed to realize he’d been watching us even then.

  “Yes, I was there,” he said. “And I shared your disgust at what you saw. The harvesting of bile from these gentle animals is an insult against nature.” He hesitated before adding, “I also saw what you did for the bears outside, and my soul danced when I watched them run alongside you as you charged to save your brother and Timmy.”

  He stared at me for a moment, as if waiting for me to say something. But I still wasn’t interested in talking.

  “It’s alright,” he said, with a pat on my shoulder. “Words aren’t necessary to communicate what is in your heart. Your true spirit is laid bare by the friends you keep and the actions you take. I see the child monk in you, and like him, your courage and sense of caring are there for all to see. Even the bears witnessed it.”

  The praise felt good and my face flushed.

  A moment later, a young monk entered the hall bearing an old leather suitcase and a set of keys. His eyes were moist. He bowed deeply and handed them to Little Star.

  Little Star took the suitcase and pocketed the keys, and all at once the monks rose and bowed toward us. Little Star returned the gesture and the monks held the position for a long moment. When they finally rose to face us, most of the monks at the table shared pained expressions, and an overwhelming sense of sadness descended on the room. Sarafina and Ahmed inched closer to me. A monk at the near side of the table captured Little Star’s gaze, and I sensed unspoken words of friendship pass between them. Then the monk nodded, turned, and walked solemnly from the room. One by one, the other monks did the same, until the only one remaining was the elderly master of the order. The moment stretched as he and Little Star looked at each another.

  Finally, the old man said, “You came in peace, and you leave in peace. Go now, Little Star, and fulfill your destiny.” His hands trembled as he turned and left the room.

  Little Star let out a long sigh. He motioned toward a table at the far end of the room. “Better grab your packs.”

  “We’re leaving?” Sarafina said. “Now?”

  “I’m afraid we must.”

  Ahmed said, “Wait just a minute. We have to get online first. We need to see if our parents or any of our friends have checked in.”

  “I’m sorry. Only monks are allowed beyond this room.”

  �
�Can’t you check for us?”

  He shook his head. “As I said, only monks are allowed access.” He paused. “I am no longer a monk.”

  Sarafina’s hand flew to her mouth.

  “I broke my vow.”

  Ahmed said, “That’s ridiculous. You saved our lives. And besides, your blades never touched flesh. You simply cut the rope.” His expression turned angry and he started toward the door to the monastery’s inner recesses.

  Little Star caught his arm. “You’d not make it past the next corridor, my young friend. I’m sorry but it is not permitted.”

  Ahmed glared at him. “But it’s not fair. Your blade never touched them.”

  Little Star held him fast and returned his stare.

  Ahmed’s shoulders sagged. “I know,” he muttered. “It’s a lame excuse.”

  “We must stand by the promises we make and the actions we take,” Little Star said, releasing Ahmed’s arm. “I am saddened by the consequences but I do not regret my actions.” His eyes grew distant. “I fully accept the sacrifice I made. For a life without sacrifice is like a bird without wings—where one dreams of a life fulfilled but has no means to achieve it. It is only through sacrifice that we learn the true value of our existence.”

  Ahmed gathered our packs and handed them out. Then he pointed to the side table. “What about your swords?”

  “Except for the clothes on my back, I must leave with nothing more than what I brought with me.”

  Ahmed huffed. “No weapons. That’s just great.”

  “And no Internet to check on our family,” Sarafina added.

  Little Star jiggled the keys in his hand. “You’ll have every technology at your fingertips soon enough,” he said. “But I doubt you’ll need it. Because I already know where your family and friends were taken.”

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