No, he wouldn’t miss this for the world. He settled himself back into the shadow of the wood bin. This would be something he would be telling his friends about all year long.
Mattim watched as the shape grew clearer. He was finally able to pick out detail. There must be some mistake. These weren’t soldiers. They were men. Oh, and women. But still, they were people. The way the grown-ups were talking, he pictured soldiers as being monsters. These were people with thick clothes on who were carrying sticks and knives and other funny-looking objects. He didn’t understand.
A large man at the front of the group of people finally got close enough to be able to speak to the monks. He stopped his friends and walked forward a little until he was only twenty feet or so in front of the Zouyim.
“What are you doing here, Zouy?” he asked the old monk, in a mean way. Mattim didn’t think he liked this man.
“We are merely passing through, stopping for a bit of a rest and some cool water to drink,” the old monk said. “What is your business here?”
“It’s none of yours,” the man sneered. “We are on the Gray Man’s business, so step aside and let us do our work.”
“No,” the old monk said simply. Mattim thought that maybe he really liked that word. He seemed to use it a lot.
“Don’t push me, old man. We have more than seventy men, carrying weapons and trained to use them. Step aside. I won’t tell you again.”
“I am afraid that is impossible. This village is under our protection. Flee from here and you will be allowed to leave unharmed. You attack at your peril.” Mattim thought that the monk was the bravest person he had ever seen. The big man wanted to beat the monk up, but the monk didn’t seem scared at all. Mattim was shaking like a leaf in the wind, even out of sight and secure in his hiding place.
The big man turned and started walking back toward his friends. He took one step and then spun quickly around, throwing something as he did so. The old monk moved his hand, faster than anything Mattim had ever seen, and when it stopped, it was holding the knife the big man had thrown at him.
The monk sighed, bowed his head for a second, and moved again, so fast that Mattim couldn’t see what he did. He saw the effects, though. The big man clutched at his throat and started to wobble. Mattim could see the knife handle sticking out from between the man’s hands, and then he could see some type of red liquid pouring down the front of him. He didn’t recognize it at first, but then realized it was the man’s blood. The man dropped to the ground and didn’t move again.
To Mattim, it seemed that the entire world held its breath. He could clearly hear a fly buzzing a few feet away from him. He wondered what would happen next.
He didn’t have to wait long.
One of the men in the crowd screamed something and then they all rushed forward to attack the monks. Mattim saw the white-garbed Zouyim spread out across the village center and then he lost sight of them as they were surrounded by the soldiers. He found himself very afraid then. Not just for himself, but for the monks. He liked them and didn’t want to see them beat up or killed.
He put his hand over his eyes for a moment so he didn’t have to watch, but hearing the sounds without seeing was even worse, so he took his hands away and looked up again. What he saw would stay with him for the rest of his life.
Within the mass of all the soldiers, he saw flickers of the light-colored robes the monks wore. They were swirling and moving like ribbons in the wind. Catching sight of one of them in between the soldiers, Mattim watched mesmerized as the monk dodged all the objects the soldiers carried—he thought these were what they called weapons; he’d heard the grown-ups talk about it—and never got hit. Not once. He threw his hands and feet out and struck the soldiers or sometimes the soldiers’ weapons.
Every time the monks struck, something broke or a soldier went down to the ground. Sometimes he could even hear a loud cracking noise, like when he broke a tree branch, even though the sound of everything else was very loud.
In just a few minutes, he saw some of the soldiers running or limping away. He was able to see the monks better now because most of the soldiers were lying down on the ground. He thought maybe they got tired and had to rest. He was tired just from watching, just from his heart beating so hard in his chest that it felt like it wanted to come out. He took a deep breath, focused on the old, white-haired monk, and waited to see what would happen.
The Zouyim hit the last few soldiers attacking them. He could hear the breaking sound more clearly now because there wasn’t as much noise. The last soldier to fall was struck by the woman. She hit him on the neck with the side of her hand. There was a breaking sound, and then his head went all crooked away from his body. He laid down on top of his friends. Maybe it was his turn for a nap.
When the white-haired monk came toward Mattim, he stayed perfectly still, sure the old man couldn’t see him. “Matty, is it?” the man’s kindly voice said to him.
He breathed out. He had hoped he wouldn’t get caught or get in trouble for being out there watching. “Yes,” he said as he came out of his hiding place. He noticed as he was walking toward the monk that his robes were no longer white. They were red, as if he had dyed them during the fight. Realizing what it meant, Mattim gasped.
“It is ok, Matty. The blood is not mine.” He smiled warmly to the boy. “We are fine, unhurt. Please go and tell your parents that they can come out now. We have much to discuss.”
Mattim nodded once, too shocked to speak, and took off running.
Chapter 2
In the Great Hall of the Gray Fortress, the Gray Man steepled his fingers in front of his face, tapping his index fingers against his lips, as one of the soldiers who had just returned from Ox Crossing gave his account of what happened.
The man would not meet the Gray Man’s eyes. He knew his appearance unnerved people. His skin, pale and devoid of color marked him out as different. It was almost white, more the color of wet ash. He had no hair anywhere on his body and he knew that the firelight from the braziers would be reflecting off his bald head.
What really made people nervous, he knew, was his eyes. They were dark, almost solid black, rimmed in red as if bleeding internally and filling up with blood. He knew well how eyes such as his felt from the other side, from the receiving end. All the Arzbedim had eyes like that. They did, that is, until he killed his captors and took their fortress. He was the only one left with the physical appearance that was a result of dealing with the dark energies he wielded.
“There was nothing we could do,” the soldier said. “We were ambushed by the Zouyim monks. They caught us unaware and before we knew it, they had decimated out ranks.”
The Gray Man shifted his eyes to the other three soldiers who were standing behind the one speaking. He saw fear in their eyes as well, but in one, he saw something more, a glimmer of doubt. He spoke to the soldier who was relating the tale. “So,” he drawled slowly, “you are telling me that four Zouyim monks lay in wait for you, springing an attack while you were merely marching toward the town?”
The soldier nodded emphatically. He seemed relieved that his leader believed the story.
“I see,” the Gray Man said to him, eyes locked on him. “Do you believe in honesty, in telling the truth?”
The man looked confused. He shuffled his feet and glanced at his comrades then back at his leader. “The truth is important, I suppose,” he stammered, clearly becoming nervous.
“Is lying acceptable to you? Is there a place for it?”
“I…uh…I could see that at times lying might be necessary, my lord.” The man was starting to perspire, unable to decide what his leader wanted to hear.
“And to me? Is it acceptable to you that you lie to me, to your leader and lord?”
“Um…I…that is…uh…no. No, my lord. I would not lie to you.”
“Would you not?”
“No, my lord.” Sweat was now dripping off the man’s head, fat droplets running down his face, hanging on
his chin before being shaken off with the vigorous shaking back and forth of his head.”
The Gray Man’s eyes drew the soldier’s and forced the man to meet his gaze.
“I don’t appreciate liars. Particularly ones who lie to me.”
He waved his hand nonchalantly and the man dropped to the floor, dead. It was a simple thing to burst a man’s heart with the rohw, with the vibrational energy he carried like a second skin and wielded at will.
“You,” the Gray Man said, pointing to one of the other men, the one in which he had seen doubt. “Is what he told me true?”
The man breathed in deeply as if he was about to launch into a verbal barrage, but all he said was, “No, my lord.”
“What was false?”
“The Zouyim, they didn’t ambush us. They came out and talked with us first. Our commander, he threw a knife at one, and that started the violence.”
“Thank you,” the Gray Man said so softly it was almost a whisper. “Zouyim are prickly about their honor. They would never ambush others when there was a chance at discussion to avoid violence. Do you have anything to add to the story, anything else you disagree with?”
“No, my lord. That was the only thing that was untrue.”
“Very well.” The Gray Man’s eyes skimmed over the other two soldiers. “Go back to your barracks and get some rest. You will be joining the forces I will send back to Ox Crossing to answer the Zouyim’s challenge. Oh, and take that,” he pointed to the corpse in front of him, “to the midden heap.”
The three soldiers saluted sharply, fists to heart, and picked up their former comrade to take him away.
The Gray Man sat in thought for a moment. He didn’t like that the Zouyim were getting involved in his affairs. He had known it would happen eventually, but he had planned on increasing his power base more fully before it happened. It wasn’t truly significant, he mused, though not quite sure he believed it.
“Captain,” he called out in a normal speaking voice. The captain stepped up from his position on the side of the small audience chamber, saluting as the other men had done.
“Yes, my lord.”
“I want two hundred men leaving for Ox Crossing within the hour. You will command. If the Zouyim are still there, I want them killed. Don’t take chances. At least half of the soldiers you bring should be competent archers. Use them. In a hand-to-hand fight with four Zouyim, two hundred will not be enough.”
“Yes, my lord.” The Captain paused, undecided.
“I don’t expect that the monks will still be there,” the Gray Man said. “Was there something else troubling you?”
“I was just wondering, my lord,” he said, “what we were to do with the citizens of Ox Crossing.”
“Do as the original force was ordered to do. Kill every last person in the village, try not to damage the buildings, and begin using it as an outpost. That is all.”
“Yes, my lord.” The Captain saluted sharply, turned on his heels, and left to begin his preparations.
Chapter 3
As he and his three fellow monks made the last turn on the switchbacks that led up to the top of Kokitura Mountain, Eilus Tang breathed a sigh of relief. He was home.
The gently curving walls that swept gracefully to either side of the main gate were a welcome sight. None of the structures were meant for defense, only to keep animals from wandering in among the buildings and trying to steal food.
The temple boundaries were designed to be pleasing to the eye, but more importantly, they channeled and gathered rohw, the vibrational energy that surrounded and infused all things. Whereas most structures men built impeded the flows of the rohw, all the buildings and structures at the temple were designed to work in harmony with it and to direct it, making the temple a focal point for energy. Even now, as he approached the temple walls, he could feel the energy sliding past him, energizing him. Its gentle caress was a comfort after traveling for so long, and a feeling of peace settled upon him.
The three monks made their way through the gates, nodding to the Zouy stationed there. Suddenly, the entirety of the temple grounds became visible. Most of the buildings were made of stone and they were all arranged in an orderly manner. The main hall was straight ahead, with many of the large housing buildings to the left and the smaller cottages where families and the masters lived to the right. Interspersed throughout the grounds were trees of all kinds: conifers, some oak, even a few fruit-bearing cherry trees. It still amazed Eilus after all these years that the brothers were able to use the rohw to make it possible for trees to grow above the tree line like this. It was nothing short of miraculous.
He sighed tiredly as he made his way across the courtyard and toward the main meeting area for the monks. He was weary, but he knew the order’s leaders would want news. He resigned himself to a few more hours before he could eat and rest.
When did the mountain become so high, anyway? He used to run up and down it easily, even a few years ago, but lately, something must have happened to make the trails steeper. He’d never heard of such a thing in his sixty-eight years, but wondrous things were known to happen. He shook his head and continued on, waving as the others split off and went their own way.
Because Eilus was the senior monk among the others, it was his responsibility to report to the masters. They would want to know about the situation at Ox Crossing. The Gray Man was reaching out, gaining more power. This would not be the first report of a town or village taken. However, it was the first time he had heard that the Gray Man’s forces acted in open hostility to the Zouyim. It was troubling.
Eilus made his way up the eight stone steps to the meeting hall. There was suddenly someone else there beside him, startling him from his thoughts. He believed he hid it well, though, and nodded to his companion. “Greetings, Rindu.”
Rindu Zose was one of the temple’s shining stars. At forty-two years old, he was young to be one of the masters on the Guiding Council, but no one with any knowledge of the man questioned his right to the position.
He was an inch or two shorter than Eilus was himself, and a bit thicker of body and limb. He was a solid man, not quite stocky but muscled more than the older monk. His jet black hair hung loosely below his shoulders, swaying slightly in the breeze. His face, unreadable to those not familiar with him, was expressive in its own way to those who knew him well. He was regarded as handsome, though not so much as his fellow Zouy Torim Jet. His slightly tilting eyes seemed to miss nothing around him and his wide, flat nose made a slight whistling sound if he breathed deeply through it.
“I hear that you have news for the Council,” Rindu said to him, bowing his head in greeting.
“I do. Grave tidings from the North.”
Rindu nodded as the two went through the large carved wooden doors to the meeting hall. When they got inside, the other masters were already waiting for them.
“Greetings, brother Eilus,” Ardu Sett said softly. “We appreciate you taking the time to give us news, though you are no doubt tired from your travels. Let us speak quickly so that you may rest.”
Bowing formally, Eilus saluted, right fist enclosed in his left hand held out in front of him.. “Thank you Grandmaster. That is kind. I thought it best that I deliver my news immediately.”
The Grand Master returned the bow and salute, his fine white beard moving with the same elegance and grace as its owner. The leader’s gray eyes seemed to glow from where they were set in his wrinkled face and the candle light that chased darkness from the room glinted off his bald, egg-like head. He moved his gnarled hands in a gesture that allowed the other monks to sit, his robes swirling around him as if he was disturbing a shallow pool. They all waited until he sat before they took their seats.
“I will be brief,” Eilus Tang started. “The Gray Man is spreading his power, becoming more aggressive. We had stopped at Ox Crossing to take a rest on our journey back home from the far North and a force of approximately seventy soldiers happened to arrive. They belonged to th
e Gray Man, with obvious instructions to eliminate the people of the village.”
He looked at each of the five masters in turn. “We tried our best to negotiate with them, but their leader attacked us. When he was eliminated, the rest of the force attacked.”
“They attacked four of our brothers?” Rindu asked. “Did they not know that they did not have enough soldiers for the task? Did they not know who you were?”
“It is so,” Eilus answered. “The commander was a stupid man. Others may have listened, but he was full of pride, with the intelligence of a stone. We defeated the soldiers, but several fled. The Gray Man would have been informed by now and sent a great many more soldiers to complete the task the first soldiers were unable to finish.”
“What of the villagers?” the Grand Master asked.
“We were able to convince them to flee. It was difficult, but they finally agreed that the Gray Man would send more soldiers and that they would all be killed.”
The Guiding Council sat silent for a moment, thinking.
“Grave tidings indeed,” Rindu finally said. “We have heard other disturbing news about the Gray Man and his minions. If he dares to attack the Zouyim, he is feeling more confident of his power. Something must be done about this.”
“Rindu, my friend,” Ardu Sett said, “we must not be rash. It is not the way. We must be patient and see what the true purpose of the man is. Only then, when we have all information, should we act. To act prematurely is worse than no action at all.”
Rindu bowed his head to the Grand Master. “Of course. My apologies.”
Harmonic Magic Series Boxed Set Page 40
