Raven's Warrior (3 page)

The other was well fed and much bigger. Although he had traveled far from the capital, he still had the look of polish. Dirt did not stick to him. In manner he was confident and focused. He had prepared well for this moment. He had rehearsed answers for any questions, and knew what qualities these monks were looking for. Now all he had to do was wait quietly for the doors to open for him. He would not fidget or look impatient, but within the hour he did both. He thought perhaps he could intimidate his nemesis and saw quickly that any looks in that direction went unnoticed.

For five full days and nights the boys had sat and slept. One cold and hungry, one warm and well fed, one anxious to begin his life within the temple, and one who no longer cared for his life at all. The rains had lashed down until, late into the fifth night, the clouds cleared and the stars appeared. In the darkness that precedes the coming day, a meteor tore a bright swath across the glittering night sky and crashed far off in the distance. As if on cue, the gates opened and the abbot emerged to see what offerings the harsh seasons had brought his temple.

To the eyes of one, the abbot did not look like what he was expecting. For a temple that was supposed to have a vigorous training regime, this monk seemed small and unimposing. Where he had expected to see muscle he saw little definition at all. This abbot's appearance resembled more the beggar boy than any soldier he had ever seen. He tried hard to hide his disappointment. The eyes of the other saw something else, and this one, who had seemed so broken, now gazed boldly and directly into the eyes of the old priest.

Rice and tea were brought, and neither lad moved until the abbot took first bite. The youth that sat on the thick bedroll was now politely eating, but the other urchin did not move at all. The abbot pointed invitingly but realized immediately that this small boy cared no longer whether he lived or died.

The abbot focused on the bigger boy, the one that had purposely made the long journey to join the temple. This one answered all questions asked with studied precision. He made it abundantly clear that all his life he had worked toward joining this temple. When the conversation ended, he sat confidently waiting for the outcome he felt was inevitable.

The old one turned his attention to the other and asked only one question, “Why do you want to join our order?” The mind of the youth formed no thoughtful reply. Instead the boy's entire life flashed before his eyes. In less time than the beating of two hearts, it measured all he had suffered and all he had loved, and ended at the image of his only vow. He answered immediately and honestly, “I do not.”

The abbot's laughter pealed out like bells upon the mountaintop, and his decision was as easy as it was immediate. This boy was probably trouble, but brought the gift of truth. The other youth watched in disbelief as the doors he had waited so long to enter were shut and bolted. Through the heavy oak he heard the abbot ask, “Your name, son?” and heard the soft reply, “Mah Lin.” He clenched his fists, gathered his rage, and spat upon the closed entrance with all his might.

Without food the homeward journey became a long and bitter march, and with this pain came new direction.

Weapons And Words

Four years would pass with only minor incidents, but this time the abbot had heard troubling rumors, and as he studied the face of the novice summoned before him, he knew that they were true. Discipline is the backbone of any sacred order, and the breaking of its trust could not go unnoticed. Mah Lin was still young and held much promise, but his surreptitious night foray must be addressed. The abbot was a kind man, and the monk before him had always reminded him very much of his younger self, headstrong and impetuous, and indeed a bit amorous. He smiled without explanation and thought carefully about the punishment that he would hand out.

“Mah Lin,” the abbot began as the young monk moved uncomfortably from side to side, “it has been told that you left these grounds at night and sought the arms of a woman.” Mah Lin looked at the floor, a look that was both an answer and a confession. He felt the silk tunic beneath his priestly robes and hoped the abbot did not know of this souvenir. The abbot continued, “This behavior is a bad example to those that look up to you. What could bring you to this reckless course of action?”

Without hesitation the young monk replied, “Love.”

Mah Lin was startled by the laughter bursting suddenly from the venerable one. When the abbot had finally collected himself he spoke in serious tone. “Yes, Mah Lin, love is by nature a very strong force, a force that helps to shape and bind the universe, and it is a force that heals and transforms both the body and the soul.” The old monk's eyes reflected a journey far back into his own past, and that memory seemed to bring him joy. The eyes of the abbot caught Mah Lin and held him motionless with their intensity.

“From now you will concentrate on your physical training, perhaps if you are tired enough, desire and temptation will be lessened.” The abbot seemed satisfied with his own decision, and then said to Mah Lin, “Report back to me in one month. I need time to consider your permanent reprimand, and I do not want to seem headstrong and impetuous.” Once again the old one's eyes seemed bright with laughter, and Mah Lin bowing, took his leave.

Mah Lin was confused as he walked down the corridor; the punishment dealt out was no punishment at all, for it was well known that he had taken to the martial disciplines like a bird takes to the air. He would, of course, comply and worry what his permanent castigation would be. For the next month the young monk trained like one possessed, and although his mind still wandered outside the temple walls and to the home of the beautiful woman, he knew that his life's purpose remained within them.

Under the youthful eyes of the old abbot, Mah Lin set to task. The venerable one had seen potential beneath the outer rebellion of the young monk. Sometimes as it was now, a challenge can be a gift and a punishment merely a test.

For the young monk, the day began much sooner than the dawn. His regime now started well before the sounding of the rooster. Nourished only by a hasty breakfast of rice-gruel and vegetables, the vigorous training of mind and body began with stretching and stance. When the other monks were given time for rest and contemplation, the young Mah Lin was made to learn new and more demanding forms. Sweat rolled from his shaved head and over wiry shoulders, where it channeled down like a river guided by the muscles of his sturdy chest.

If this reprimand was designed to break body or spirit, it did neither, for as much as was thrown on the shoulders of the young monk, he took more. When all his brothers were settled for the night, Mah Lin was still practicing the physical lessons of his day. At its end he would descend to the temple library and sweep the dust from floor and shelf, from here he would move on to the polishing of the weapons within the armory and the shoveling of the coal dust from the temple forge. Only then, filthy and exhausted, would he close his eyes long enough to begin another day.

Time flew by; a month seemed like a week. Lately he had taken to looking openly at the sacred texts and brandishing the temple's finest swords. It was here in the lamp lit darkness of the temple cellar that both blade and imagination flew. The day arrived when that flight was cut short by the abbot's stern voice. Mah Lin jumped like a child with a hand caught in the honey jar.

The abbot's words boomed out, “It seems you are drawn to both weapon and word, but as novice you must drink milk before you eat meat, as child you must crawl before you can run. Sword and literature lie at the foundation of our order, but their proper study requires both time and guidance. Report tomorrow and accept your full and permanent retribution, your month has passed.”

By morning the stark confines of the abbot's chamber were washed by the soft light of the new day. Mah Lin saw the scrolls hung upon its walls and the gathering of senior monks that sat cross legged where floor met wall. An ancient but exquisite blade had been brought from the temple vault and now lay prominently upon the patriarch's simple desk.

Mah Lin had never seen this sword, but knew by instinct what it was. Often in the quietness of the nights he had heard of its existence, whispered conversations always wrapped in tones of awe and reverence. As Mah Lin wondered if its purpose was to cut him swiftly from the Order, the abbot got straight to the matter at hand.

“Mah Lin, you have violated your sacred trust, and your position within these cloistered walls has been assessed. It has been decided that you are to continue your routine of punishment. Your seniors say that you learn well, but there is still much they have to offer. They will break you or they will build you—time will tell.

In addition, you are now the keeper of the forge and the protector of our sacred library. You will be taught the secrets of transforming earth into metal and study with the most venerable the sacred documents which you are now, with your life, sworn to protect.” The abbot lifted the sword from the desk and walked towards the novice, passing it respectfully to the young monk he continued. “This weapon is named The Sword of Five Elements and is the soul of our dwelling. It is your blessing and perhaps your curse. May wisdom guide you in its purpose. Mah Lin, you are dismissed.”

And so, as quickly as it began, it was over. Mah Lin walked from the old priest's chambers, still not sure what had just transpired. The abbot for his part smiled and conversed with the senior monks, feeling much younger than his many years. He had known all along that this punishment fit the talented offender well, and that Mah Lin was the only one with the qualities needed for the honor bestowed.

Still reeling from the morning's event, the young monk moved lightly along the hallway and down the stairs. Alone once more, he examined every detail of the sword within his hands, and with the eyes of his soul peered into its depth.

Steel and parchment were now his life's one purpose, and his spirit sailed upon the winds of destiny.

The Sacking Of The Temple

Selah had spent her first six years fatherless, but with no regrets. By age seven she was both strong and resilient, and the taunts of older children were quickly silenced with a small but well aimed fist. In the quiet shadows of night she had often seen her mother lovingly caress the orange robe by her bedside. Instinctively she knew it held a memory and therefore a bond. She did not know, however, that it brought her mother back to that night long ago when a young monk had climbed over the temple walls.

For her mother there would never be anyone else. From conception's first night she would dedicate herself completely to the study of traditional medicine. As she treated her steady stream of patients, Selah would be there helping prepare tonic, antidote, and cure, for ailments of all description. Mother and child would often forage like free animals for the rare and potent healing herbs that grew in the surrounding area. They would speak often of the time when as an adult she would meet the father she had never known, and he would meet the daughter he never knew existed.

She was surprised when the dark and distant plume from the temple summit had brought forth from her mother tears of sorrow. She did not understand the grief with which her mother prepared the cart and said, “We go now to meet your father.” She knew only that this was not the joyous meeting that they had talked about so often and for so long. Following her mother's emotional cues, she prepared herself for whatever was to come, and at the age of seven found the strength of steel in her young and innocent soul.

The acrid black smoke that had billowed upward from the ruined temple had changed texture. It hung in the air like the oily black plumage of the crows watching from high places. As the small girl and her mother struggled to pull their cart from mountain path to entrance, the last remnants of a smoldering gate collapsed in what seemed an ominous gesture of welcome.

The open courtyard that had once pulsed with the sounds and routine of sacred monastic life now screamed silently from the faces of the many corpses that lay strewn and scattered about. The actions of the woman and child mirrored perfectly the actions of the scavenging crows; they began methodically to pick apart the dead. This, however, was no common pillage.

They had no interest in the valuable armor and weapons of the many dead soldiers. Instead they searched robe to saffron robe looking relentlessly for him. They sat defeated and still, until a raven cried out from a mountainous pile of armored bodies, awakening them from their despair. They both moved at the same time, and with one mighty push, the black bird flew up and the large body at the top went tumbling down, revealing the treasure that the woman and child had been seeking. They had found Mah Lin.

While the woman struggled with the task at hand, the small girl studied the large black bird. It stood calmly, framed by the open door before it, peering into the dark interior. ‘What was it staring at?' she wondered, her childlike curiosity immediately banished fear. When the raven walked inside Selah quickly followed. With awkward hops it led her down the stone steps and disappeared into a cool square room. She stood still, listening for its whereabouts and letting her eyes adjust to the darkness.

Her vision cleared and the scrolls and parchments on the many shelves now became her focus. She scooped up an armful. By dust and smell she knew that they were old and that she must show them to her mother.

By sundown the body of the monk, his sword, and the ancient manuscripts he had died protecting were halfway down the mountain on the rickety wooden cart. The raven was never far away. By deep night they had reached her home and only then did it fly directly to the monk and begin picking, not at the flesh, but at the many arrow shafts protruding whole and broken from chest and torso.

She and her cub moved once more in unison. They pulled open the blood stained robes. Underneath was the silk tunic she had spun for him some eight years ago. It was his way of keeping his one night of transgression close to his heart. With a twist and a pull, the silk eased the many broad-heads out as faithfully as it had stopped their full penetration.