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Publisher’sCataloginginPublication

Pratchett,Vincent.Theraven’swarrior:anovel/VincentPratchett.--Wolfeboro,NH:YMAAPublicationCenter,c2013.

p.;cm.

ISBN:978-1-59439-258-0(pbk.);978-1-59439-259-7(ebk.)

Summary:Woundedinbattle(900A.D.),aneardeadCelticwarrioristakenbyVikenraidersandsoldintoaBaghdadslavemarket.Heis

draggedfurtherEast,throughthedesert,intothe‘MiddleKingdom’whereheisboughtbyawarriorpriestandhisbeautifuldaughter.Hazyimagesofsilk,herbs,needles,potionsandsteel,canonlyleadtoonething,hehasbeenpurchasedbyawizardandhiswitch.Arktharfearsforhissoul.--Publisher.

1.Celts--China--Tenthcentury--Fiction.2.Magic,Chinese--Tenthcentury--Fiction.3.China--History--Tenthcentury--Fiction.4.Taoistpriests--China--Tenthcentury--Fiction.5.Adventurefiction.6.Historicalfiction.I.Title.

PR9199.4.P73R382013

813.6--dc2320129541981301

Editor’s note: Viken is the historicalname of a region in southeasternNorway, believed to derive from theOld Norse word vík, meaning cove orinlet.Etymologistshave suggested thatthe modern word “viking” may bederived from this place name, simplymeaning“apersonfromViken”.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseither are the product of the author’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andany resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, businesses, companies,events, or locales is entirelycoincidental.

DRAGON

SealScriptCalligraphyfromthetimeoftheFirst

EmperorQINSHIHUANGDI

Every man’s life storybegins at first breath,but this is not my storyalone, and so it beginsmuchclosertomylast.

CONTENTS

THEBEGINNINGTHEARRIVALREBIRTHMYMIND’SCONCLUSIONTHENOVICEGATEWEAPONSANDWORDSTHESACKINGOFTHE

TEMPLETRANSITIONSRENEWALANEWDIRECTIONSLAUGHTERANDSTEELREVENGEINTHEEYESOFANEMPEROROLDWOUNDSREOPENFIRSTBLOOD

THESHIELDLIFESPEAKSDREAMSTHEMOTHERTHEROOTSARESEVEREDBYSEAANDBYLANDBALANCETHENEEDLEPOINTSNORTH

THEBEARENTRENCHEDTHEORACLESPEAKSTHESIEGESACRIFICEFIRSTSTRIKETHEOAKWATERANDFISHTHETREEOFKNOWLEDGE

STANDINGATPEACEHEATCHITHEGUARDIANTHEFIRSTEMPERORTHEENTRANCESLEEPTHEFIVECUTSTHELIGHTWITHINTHEDARKNESS

THEVAJRAANDTHEMINDTOSEEBEYONDTHEMANNEROFKILLINGCROWSTHELASTMISSIONOVERTHEWALLTHEWHOREANDTHECRONEFIREANDSTRAWCHANGES

ABARGAINREFUSEDONTWOWINGSBOWANDSHIELDTHEBEGGAR’SBOWLREACHINGFORTHERAINCIRCLESOFWOODANDSTEELDRAGONSAFATHER’SGIFT

THESHAPINGOFSTEELSELAHTHEBOWTHEBLADEOFMAHLINLOTUSANDSWORDFULLCIRCLETHEIMPERIALCOURTTHEPOXFATHERSANDSONSTHEGUEST

THEPATTERNINTHETHREADSDEPARTUREFROMTHEEYETHEAWAKENINGTHECAPITALCITYTHEGRANDINNEREVILGROWSTHETASKATHANDTHEMANTISKING

ACHALLENGEINTHESANDTHEFACEOFTHEENEMYADARKVISITATIONTHESUNGURBANNIGHTTHEMORNINGLOOMSTHEPOEMOFLIBAITHEEMPEROR

THETIMEDRAWSNEARTWOFAVORSTHEHOMEWARDJOURNEYTHETRUSTEDMINISTERTHEPREYTHECAVERN’SBOUNTYDRAGONFIRESAGESANDKINGSTHEHORDE

APPROACHESANSWERSGATHERINGPOWERTHEDIEISCASTAWAYTHEMEASURETAKENTHEHAREANDTHEHOUNDSTHEAPOCALYPSETHEVALLEYOF

DECISIONSOUTHERNWINDSTHEBEGINNINGEPILOGUEHISTORICALNOTEACKNOWLEDGEMENTSABOUTTHEAUTHOR

TheBeginning

I soar in effortless circlesaround the plodding caravanfar below me, gently ridingthedesertwinds.It isnot theglitter of sunlight on jewelsthat attractsme, for I do notcovet the spoils of war, butcrave only my humble shareof war’s terrible outcome.

The hot rising air is cradledbeneath the feathers of myoutstretched wings, andcarries with it the tantalizingodorof sandandblood. I flyon, driven by primordialhunger and beckoned by thesmell of death.Drawn closernow, I am intrigued, for Ihavefounditssource.Icanseehimclearly.Heis

chainedbehindthecart ladenwith plunder and pulled by

great horned oxen. He jerksand stumbles forward atevery tug of the cattle’smethodicalsteps.Bloodistheclothingthatcovershisbody.Woundedandtortured,decaydid not wait politely fordeath’scue,andtheflieshavealreadyjoinedthefeast.My spirit knows that this

cruelty is the work of men,natureismuchmoremerciful.I can see that the dying

captiveismad.Heraveswithagonyandfeverateverynearfall. Nature mercifully hasremovedmind frombody, sohismindknowsnothingofitsbody’splightorpain,andbynature’s mercy I sense hisjourneywillsoonbeover.But that time has not yet

come, and I fly upwardstowardstheheavenstobanishmygloom.Ascloudspartandearly stars move slowly

before my eyes, I bite andsavorsimpleconcepts,tastingthe timeless comfort ofuniversal truths. With painandbloodtheyareborn,theylive, create life and take life,andthenwithbloodandpainthey leave through Death’scold gateway. It is Death’sblackfingerthatputsthefinalpunctuation at the end ofeveryman’slifesentence.It was then that I heard

Death laughing,andwhenhehad finished his chuckle hebegantospeak.“Ihaveheardthe delirious ramblings ofcountless dying minds. I amamused by yours. Heavyphilosophy to haplessmetaphor, ‘my black fingerputs the final punctuation atthe end of every man’s lifesentence?’Thatisveryfunnygiven your circumstance. Flydown with me to see the

wretch again.” As we flewlower Death continued tospeak.“Many times in many

battlesIcametotakehim,buthe was elusive and agile.Even thoughIcouldn’t reachhim,hedidmyworkwellandsentmemany.DidyouknowI have whispered to himeverystepofhis journeyandstill he will not come? Yeteven ifhedoesnotdiealong

the way, he knows I wait toembrace him at theexecutioner’s block. Whydoesheresist?”We angled closer to the

manashecontinued.“Iknowthis unreasonable tenacity istestimonytothepoweroflifeandcreation,andtofeellife’spulsing strength is a newexperience for me, anexperience for which I willalwaysbegrateful.”Weflew

closer still, andhovered.Thestenchwasintoxicating.Isawthewar prisoner’swild eyes,and in a heartbeat ravenouseuphoria was replaced byterror.I saw and understood that

thissmellofwhatwasonceaman was me, and in panic Ibeganfallingfromthesky.Deathsteadiedme,“Donot

be afraid,” he said as Iplummeted towards myself.

“I came once more to takeyou, but I am in your debt.You have challenged me,aided me, helped me hearlife’s song, and finally youhave even made me laugh.‘My black finger puts thefinalpunctuationattheendofevery man’s life sentence,’”and his laughter began alloveragain.We had begun the final

dive of a bird of prey.There

was no turning back. Wewereverycloseandflewveryfast, faster than the speed ofreflex. For me there couldandwouldbenostopping.Awing tip away from impact,he flashed his final words.“No punctuation, Vincent,your life sentence has justbegun.”Instantly my world blazed

white. Like the coals of aforge it cooled, sinking

steadily through a sea of redand orange. Finally it settledinto the black cold depths ofthe night, from where Iemergedandmovedasamanoncemore.The feverhadbroken.The

heat and redness around thewoundstillremained,butmyarmnolongerachedateverypassing heartbeat. The bloodthat had seemed unstoppablehad slowed to a trickle and

had cleaned the wound asbest it could.Dead fleshwasgone, and the children of theflies had also vanished. Amind forced away by thebody’s anguish has returnedtoitstempletoworshipatitsaltar of bearable sufferingonceagain.Ihadsurvived,Ihadbegun

to heal, and I had forgotteneverything that Death hadsaidtome.

TheArrival

My downcast eyes hadmeasured both my journeyandmylife,butnotinlengthor duration, forme time anddistance no longer existed.No,theymeasuredsimplybywhattheyhadseen.Theysawmy body, wounded, starved,and ill, wither to the bone.

They saw rivers turn toocean, fields turn into forest,and forest turn to sea. Theysaw seas become mountains,and the mountains turn todesert.In the desert they saw the

sun paint my body with acolor it had never worn, thecolor of the shifting sands.When they had seen mymummification processcomplete, they saw more.

They saw desert becomedusty road, and dust becomecobblestone.Theytoldmewehad entered the kingdom ofmy enemy. When they sawthe ground before me stopmoving, they stoppedmeasuring and toldme I hadarrivedatafarflungoutpost.Itwasherethattheystruggledto finally look up. I saw themultitude of strange peoplethatsurroundedmestretch to

the horizon, and I felt onlypain.This was not an ocean of

blue and green water, but asea of brown, and shades ofbrown like anoceanof sand.It was a vast sea of humanwaves. Itwas a desert of thedrifting dunes of humanity,and it made my eyes thirst.My eyes did not thirst forwater like the flesh does, theendless shades of desert

brown made them thirst forcolor. They had not seenbright colors since the bloodhadceased its flow,andnowtheycravedthem.Onthedistanthorizonthey

sawsunlightsplittorainbow,the answer to their prayer. Itwas like the sparkle of thesettingsunonwaterorashaftof light shining throughjewels. My thirst wasquenched, and my pain had

faded. My eyes once againsaw the people around me,and I felt something strongerthan pain. I could feel theirfear, their wonder, and theirpity,andIwept.The once distant flash of

rainbow drew closer now.Thedesertofhumanitypartedbefore it, and it passedunimpeded. I saw that itwasnot a cruel mirage ofdeprivation, but a rider

wearing the dazzling clothcolorsofred,blue,green,andgold on a background ofsilver white, and theyshimmeredmagicallywithhisevery movement. He wasreal, and followed closelybyahorse-drawnwagonledbyafemale servant clad in theordinary brown colors of thedesert’s caress. My eyesfollowedtheirprogress.As theyentered the square

the servant and cart hoveredback,while themanof colorapproached. His stronggraceful movement told methat this one was skilled inthe arts ofwar, and the longstraightbladesheathedonhisbackhintedthatmyexecutionwasathand.Besidemenow,he spoke inmy languagebutin a tone and rhythm all hisown. I had to listen carefullyand closely as he asked only

myname.ThenIhadtofighthard to remember it; it hadbeen so long since I hadanswered to it. “Vincent,” Ireplied as strongly as myvoicewouldallow.Hebegan to laugh.“Latin,

meaning onewho conquers,”hesaid.“That is funnygivenyour circumstance.” Myblood ran cold, for in myworld, the one fromwhich Ihad been so violently taken,

being questioned by thosethat know Latin is almostalways followed by a slowand agonizing death. Therealityofmypresentsituationflooded in, and I begandrowning once again in adark and paralyzingemptiness.His first words had

plunged me under but hisnextseemedtograbmyheadandholdmeup,allowingme

to breathe again. “Do notdespair,” he said calmly.“Some believe that the onethat endures has conquered.”And then a movement fasterthan an arrow’s flight, hishand was drawing up thebladed edge. I could hear itgather speed out of thesheath, and then silence as itclearedandswoopeddown. Istretched my skinny neck togive a clean target, but

instead felt a jerk at mywrists, as his blade’s arc bitthe chain that had held myhands together for so long.The links fell atmy feet likethe pruned branches of anolivetree.SinceboyhoodIhadheard

the warriors tell stories ofreverence about a sword thatcould cut through iron like acleaver through meat, butthesewere just stories. I had

been a soldiermywhole lifeandhadneverseenone.Nowlooking at the metal bondsthat lay coldly at my feet, Ifeltstrangelycomplete.I braced for the next cut,

buttheswordhadreturnedtosheath, and its wielder hadturned to address the throng.Although I didn’t understandhis words, I clearlyunderstood their meaning.“This man now belongs to

me.” He directed theirattention towards the cart ofplunder.Hestudiedthehordeand asked, “Are there anyobjections?” There was onlysilenceasthecrowd’sinteresthad now shifted towards therest of the spoils. His eyesmetmine and in a lowvoicehe said, “From today I amyour owner. Vincent, yourlifesentencehas justbegun.”His servant helpedme to the

wagon as the crowd pushedcloser to the treasure-ladencart.Myeyescaughttheflashof

shadow moving across theground where a high-flyingcarrion bird had comebetweenusandthesun,andIknew then that Death wouldwait.

Rebirth

The wagon that I fell intowas lined with pillows andoverlaid with a beautifullypatternedcarpet. I layonmyside,unmoving,likeanegginitsnest,oranunbornbabyinawondrously coloredwomb.I heard the one who hadclaimedownershipofmesay,

“the road home is long andarduous; whether mydaughter tends or buries, isnot forme to say.” I felt thewagon begin to move, and Ifelt the one who I thought aservant climb in beside me.Clouds above and roadbelow,myeyesclosed,andIhoveredbetweentwoworlds.Thefirstlegofthejourney

was difficult. She began herwork immediately. I felt the

skill of healer in her hands.She massaged me firmly butgently, leaving no damagedareas neglected. Her fingersdug deep enough to drawmoans from my brokenframe, and then her palmssmoothly reassured its boneand tissue. I could feel bothstrength and confidence inher attention, and Imarveledatherdexterity.Thiswentondayafterday,

but at week’s end I felt Icouldtakenomore,andIfellinto the fearless sleep of thenearly dead. Through thedepths of my slumber Ismelled the fire, andasnightdescended she brought me asoup of bitter herb and beastunknown. After the meal Iremember nothing untilmorning came, and I awoketo the sound and motion ofwheelonroadonceagain.

The next week’s travelbroughtmoreofthesame,butwas less strenuous. Now Igrew used to the pungentaroma of plant and potion. Icould feel the infused oilsrubbed into my skin surfaceandbeyond. I didn’t know ifthiswastocovermysmellorto heal my wounds, and Ididn’t care. We pulled on,and slowly I began to comebacktomyself.

My limbswere drawn andstretched, and joints almostimmobile began to loosen.Some treatments broughtheat, some cold, others Icouldtastewhenapplied.Mybodydrankthisattentionlikea sponge, and pausedoccasionally to sip strangeteasfromthecupsheheldforme.WitheachnewnightfallIwas happy to hear the firebuilt again, and ate

ravenously the stew sheserved.Ourlastfullweekuponthe

grindingroadbeganroutinelywith the rising sun, and herwork continued. I watchedherslipneedlesfromapouchand insert them deeply intomy arm, chest, and shoulder.I braced for pain, but I feltnone, even as she rotatedthem one after another. Thefeelingofhavingnothingand

being nothing was beginningto lift, I was no longerburdened by this emptiness,but liberated by it. Theinsipid smell of desert sandhadbeenreplacedbythelusharoma of plant and blossom.Myworldwas turninggreen,asifspringhadcometomeatlast.Iatewellthatevening,and

I left the confines of mytraveling nest. By firelight I

saw their faces, and for thefirsttimeIsawhowbeautifulshe really was. I was a manwell starved, but I did nothungeropenly. Iwatchedherfrom the cool darkness andwas nourished by herpresence. The moonlightplayed on her thick blackhair. Its rich luster was likethe coat of a wild fresh-runstallion. Her skin was softeventothetouchofmyeyes.

It had the color of amberspringhoney,and theechoedfragrance of jasmine. Honeyandjasmine,likethemeadofmyhomeland,IfeltstrangelylightheadedasIdrankherin.Their eyes were different

than any I had ever seen,black like the richest anddarkestwoodandshapedlikethe knots that give itcharacter.Herspickedup thereflection of the bright

flames, and banished anytraceofthenight’schillfrommy bones. I listened withoutunderstanding as they spokein the language of theirworld. As I lay down, itwashed over me like awanderingbrook,and for thefirst time in a long time Ibegan to dream again. Therewere the sounds of swordbitingmetal, the lightness ofmy arms, the flashing of

silveredge,andthefeelingofflight.Iwasbothweaponandwielder in an ethereal battlethat raged far beyond mywakingsenses.By mid-morning well into

thefourthweek,Iwassittingin the wagon. Light stillplayedon the clothingof therider, and his darkly claddaughterrodewithhimontheback of his powerful mount.Therewas life all aroundus;

songbirds were in full form,small creatures scrambledfromourapproach.Tall treeswaved young leaves thatcaught the soft winds. Amovement of his arm spokethat this land was his. Weclimbed higher and couldsoon see all around us.Almost hidden in the centerofthisview,Isawadwelling.As we came closer, the

grazing animals stopped and

looked up at us. Birdsswoopedcloserasiftospy,araven cried from a branchoverhead, and wild deer andgame stepped out fromfoliage just to showthemselves to him. Weentered the walled courtyardprotected by a huge woodendoor that closed behind us.Westoppedfirstatthebarns,and I was shocked by howwell I felt as I stepped onto

theground.The horses were fed and

tended, and the young girltook the sword from herfatherasifhewerehimselfahorsebeingstrippedofbrass,blanket, and bridle. As wewalked towards the largehouse,wepassedadeeppondof lilies. I could see fishthrash and surge to holdorange heads above thesurface. Their wagging tails

reminded me of mywolfhounds, which oncejostled happily to greet theirreturningmaster.We entered the house

throughagreathall.Weaponsand armor from all over theworld lay scattered from farwall to near. I recognizedsome, but most lookedforeign,fromadifferentplaceor a different time perhaps.Manypieceswerejuststrewn

and dust covered, othersseemed waiting to be pickedup and handled again. Therewere spears, clubs, shortswords, scimitars, slings,projectiles, helmets, shields,andbreastplates.It brought from my

memories tales about thedragon’s lair, dark andcavernous, littered with theweapons,armor,andbonesofbrave souls previously

dispatched.I thoughtoncemoreof the

mythical serpent, childhooddreamsandadultnightmares,of journeys ended andjourneysbegun.

MyMind’sConclusion

My body’s passage over,my mind raced onward tocatchandholdthetruth.Daysbefore, lying within themovingwagon, it had foughttograspreality.Ithadmovedinvisionfromeventtoevent,

andweighedeachoneheavilyagainst the possible and theprobable. It saw the onebeneaththeshimmeringrobesthat could not hide thestrength and power of themanwhoworethem.Itfixeditself upon his flashing steel—a sword described inlegend.My mind saw again the

creatures of his land, wildanimals thatataglancewere

tamed by his authority. Itseemed that every livingthingknewitsplace,andthathe was the keeper of thisgarden. From lofty sky towaters deep, all awaited andrespectedhiscommand.It turned fromman togirl,

and remembered her skillfultouch and unworldly beauty.It reviewed the passing ofrecent events with care andaccuracytoavoidallroomfor

error.Itsawagainthemixingof theplantsandpotionsandremembered the strengthgiving magic of her bitterteas. It remembered theirpungent but not unpleasantsmells, it wandered furtherand held experience up toreason’slight.Theneedleshadbeensunk

deep beneath my mangledskin,and then rotatedonebyone, but as if by magic no

pain did come. Surely thiswasnotpossibleinanyrealmof man. Emotion screamedthrough my careful logic.This was powerful sorcerybound towitchcraft bold andunrepentant.I arrived at the certainty

that Iwas tobe theobjectoftheir ungodly rituals, andsweat ran down my middleback. I thought abouthow toescape,butIknewIwasstill

far tooweak. I feltmyblooddrain instantly frommy face,and as if by curse my limbshung useless. I have neverfeared death, but now inevery corner of my being Itrembled,frailandpathetic.Itwas not my flesh I dreadedlosing,itwasmyeternalsoul.As if on cue they entered

the room and stared at mewithconcern,alarmedIthinkby my pallor. “Stand away

from me,” I shouted. “Myenemies have delivered meintothehandsofawizardandhiswitch.Inanothertimeandanotherplace,Iwouldbetheone lighting the fires ofpurificationunderyour feet.”Itriedtorunbuttrippedoversome canes piled near thedoor. As I struggled to riseshe was beside me helpingme to my feet, laughingfreely like a child.Then in a

solemn tone, “I have heardabouttheburnings,”shesaid.Her father, too, had

finished smiling. “Be atpeace,” he said, “this is notyour timeoryourplace, it isours.MynameisMahLin. Iam a warrior monk, and thelast ofmyOrder.This ismydaughter Selah, and in ourtime and our place she is arespected and skilledpractitioner of Traditional

Medicine.”“Merlin, Sea Lass,” I

repeatedcarefully,whiletheylaughed at my butcheredpronunciation.“Restnowandgrow strong, and know thatmy sword has called yourname,”saidthewizard.Inmylanguage but with therichness of her tone andmeter, “I will show himwhere he sleeps,” said thewitch.

I fellasleep that firstnightthinking about the life that Ihad lost, and the life that Ihad found, and the dreamscamebacktomestrongly.

TheNoviceGate

From first breath life hadnot been easy, for he hadarrived at a difficult time.Naturaldisastershadbecomethe norm rather than theexception. If there was nodrought, there was flooding,if there was growth, therewere locusts. The last two

seasons had been the worstthat the living couldremember. The land was notforgiving. Seeds perishedwhere they were sown. Theheavens were not pleased,and for this the earth nowsuffered.In the world of men the

rich were now poor and thepoorwerenowdead.Animalsstarved in fields and peoplestarved in hovels. Human

fleshwassoldinmarkets,andthis two-legged mutton wascheaperthanthemeatofdog.This was the world intowhichhewasborn.He was a good child and

toiledhardbesidehisparents,but in these times hardworkwasnotenoughtobuildalifeor keep a family together.Side by side father and sonscaled the mountain andspoke little. The sadness

within his heart overpoweredany joy that conversationmight have brought. Abjectpoverty had dictated thedecisionmade.Whenayoungmouth can no longer be fed,analternativemustbe found.They had told him about themonastery, and he had seenthe orange clad monks onmany occasions, but he hadneverwantedtobecomeone.Although he was only

twelve years of age, he hadalready found his life’s love,and itwas her that hewouldmissthemost.Herfamilyhadlived here in the shadow ofthe mountain temple, theyhadbeenneighborsallofhisshort life, and nowhewouldseehernomore.Astheclimbleveled and the templeloomed before him, so didfate. The tears that streameddownthehaggardfaceofhis

father fed the hollow feelingin his gut. A hard embracewouldbeason’slastmemoryof the father that loved himbut could not keep him.Pushed gently toward thetemple’snovicegate, theboystareddowntohidehispain.He sat alone and empty

before the massive woodendoors, and thought about hislove.Hegatheredeverydetailof her within his mind. The

night fell like the coldrelentlessrain,andastheboyshivered,hevowedinhearttoholdhermemory.His solitude was shattered

with the arrival of the dawn,for with it came anotheryouth. This one had traveledfar and was equipped with acomfortable bed roll and ageneroussupplyoffood.Thenew arrival was not pleasedto find another, but with an

arrogant look he surmisedquickly that his predecessorwould offer no competition.Bothboyswerethesameagebut very different in bothappearanceanddemeanor.The first to arrive was

undernourished and filthy.His unkempt hair lay mattedto his forehead, and the ragsthat draped his skinny bodyheldtheodorofthefields.Helookedmoreabeggar’schild

than an aspiring monk. Hestared blankly at hissurroundings, downcast.Many in this time shared hislook, much work and littlefoodhad taken their toll.Yettherewassomethingdifferentabout him. Somethingintangible spoke that whileeverything about him wasbroken and weak, somethingwithinhimwasnot.Theboywasgladthatalthoughhehad

nothing, at least he was nolongeralone.Theotherwaswellfedand

much bigger. Although hehad traveled far from thecapital, he still had the lookofpolish.Dirtdidnotsticktohim. In manner he wasconfident and focused. Hehad prepared well for thismoment. He had rehearsedanswers for any questions,andknewwhatqualitiesthese

monkswerelookingfor.Nowall he had to do was waitquietly for the doors to openforhim.Hewouldnot fidgetor look impatient, butwithinthe hour he did both. Hethought perhaps he couldintimidate his nemesis andsawquicklythatanylooksinthatdirectionwentunnoticed.For five full days and

nights the boys had sat andslept. One cold and hungry,

one warm and well fed, oneanxious to begin his lifewithin the temple, and onewho no longer cared for hislife at all. The rains hadlashed down until, late intothe fifth night, the cloudscleared and the starsappeared.Inthedarknessthatprecedes the coming day, ameteor tore a bright swathacrosstheglitteringnightskyand crashed far off in the

distance. As if on cue, thegates opened and the abbotemergedtoseewhatofferingstheharshseasonshadbroughthistemple.To the eyes of one, the

abbot did not look like whathe was expecting. For atemple that was supposed tohave a vigorous trainingregime, this monk seemedsmallandunimposing.Wherehehadexpectedtoseemuscle

he saw little definition at all.This abbot’s appearanceresembled more the beggarboy than any soldier he hadever seen. He tried hard tohide his disappointment. Theeyes of the other sawsomething else, and this one,who had seemed so broken,now gazed boldly anddirectly into the eyes of theoldpriest.Riceandteawerebrought,

and neither lad moved untilthe abbot took first bite. Theyouth that sat on the thickbedroll was now politelyeating, but the other urchindidnotmoveatall.Theabbotpointedinvitinglybutrealizedimmediately that this smallboy cared no longer whetherhelivedordied.The abbot focused on the

bigger boy, the one that hadpurposely made the long

journey to join the temple.This one answered allquestions asked with studiedprecision. He made itabundantly clear that all hislife he had worked towardjoiningthistemple.Whentheconversation ended, he satconfidently waiting for theoutcome he felt wasinevitable.The old one turned his

attention to the other and

asked only one question,“Whydoyouwanttojoinourorder?” The mind of theyouth formed no thoughtfulreply.Insteadtheboy’sentirelifeflashedbeforehiseyes.Inless time than the beating oftwohearts,itmeasuredallhehad suffered and all he hadloved,andendedattheimageofhisonlyvow.Heansweredimmediately and honestly, “Idonot.”

The abbot’s laughterpealedoutlikebellsuponthemountaintop,andhisdecisionwas as easy as it wasimmediate. This boy wasprobably trouble,butbroughtthe gift of truth. The otheryouthwatched indisbeliefasthe doors he had waited solong to enter were shut andbolted. Through the heavyoak he heard the abbot ask,“Yourname,son?”andheard

thesoftreply,“MahLin.”Heclenched his fists, gatheredhis rage, and spat upon theclosed entrance with all hismight.Without food the

homeward journey became along and bitter march, andwith this pain came newdirection.

WeaponsAndWords

Fouryearswouldpasswithonlyminorincidents,butthistime the abbot had heardtroubling rumors, and as hestudiedthefaceofthenovicesummoned before him, heknew that they were true.

Discipline is thebackboneofany sacred order, and thebreakingofitstrustcouldnotgo unnoticed. Mah Lin wasstill young and held muchpromise, but his surreptitiousnight foray must beaddressed. The abbot was akind man, and the monkbefore him had alwaysreminded him very much ofhis younger self, headstrongand impetuous, and indeed a

bit amorous. He smiledwithout explanation andthought carefully about thepunishment that he wouldhandout.“Mah Lin,” the abbot

began as the young monkmoved uncomfortably fromsidetoside,“ithasbeentoldthatyou left thesegroundsatnight and sought the arms ofawoman.”MahLinlookedatthefloor,alookthatwasboth

an answer and a confession.He felt the silk tunicbeneathhis priestly robes and hopedtheabbotdidnotknowofthissouvenir. The abbotcontinued,“Thisbehaviorisabad example to those thatlook up to you. What couldbring you to this recklesscourseofaction?”Without hesitation the

youngmonkreplied,“Love.”Mah Lin was startled by

the laughter burstingsuddenly from the venerableone. When the abbot hadfinally collected himself hespoke in serious tone. “Yes,MahLin, love is by nature averystrongforce,aforcethathelps to shape and bind theuniverse,anditisaforcethathealsandtransformsboththebody and the soul.” The oldmonk’s eyes reflected ajourneyfarbackintohisown

past, and that memoryseemedtobringhimjoy.TheeyesoftheabbotcaughtMahLin and held himmotionlesswiththeirintensity.“From now you will

concentrate on your physicaltraining, perhaps if you aretired enough, desire andtemptationwill be lessened.”The abbot seemed satisfiedwith his own decision, andthensaidtoMahLin,“Report

back to me in one month. Ineed time to consider yourpermanent reprimand, and Ido not want to seemheadstrong and impetuous.”Onceagaintheoldone’seyesseemed bright with laughter,and Mah Lin bowing, tookhisleave.Mah Lin was confused as

hewalkeddownthecorridor;thepunishmentdealtoutwasno punishment at all, for it

was well known that he hadtaken to the martialdisciplineslikeabirdtakestothe air.Hewould, of course,comply and worry what hispermanent castigation wouldbe. For the next month theyoungmonk trained like onepossessed, and although hismind still wandered outsidethe temple walls and to thehomeofthebeautifulwoman,he knew that his life’s

purpose remained withinthem.Undertheyouthfuleyesof

theoldabbot,MahLinsettotask. The venerable one hadseen potential beneath theouter rebellion of the youngmonk. Sometimes as it wasnow,achallengecanbeagiftand a punishment merely atest.For the young monk, the

day beganmuch sooner than

the dawn. His regime nowstarted well before thesounding of the rooster.Nourished only by a hastybreakfast of rice-gruel andvegetables, the vigoroustraining of mind and bodybegan with stretching andstance.Whentheothermonkswere given time for rest andcontemplation, the youngMah Lin was made to learnnew and more demanding

forms. Sweat rolled from hisshaved head and over wiryshoulders,whereitchanneleddown like a river guided bythe muscles of his sturdychest.If this reprimand was

designed to break body orspirit, it did neither, for asmuch as was thrown on theshouldersoftheyoungmonk,he took more. When all hisbrothers were settled for the

night, Mah Lin was stillpracticing the physicallessonsofhisday.At itsendhe would descend to thetemple library and sweep thedust from floor and shelf,fromherehewouldmoveonto the polishing of theweapons within the armoryand the shovelingof thecoaldust from the temple forge.Only then, filthy andexhausted,wouldheclosehis

eyes long enough to beginanotherday.Time flew by; a month

seemedlikeaweek.Latelyhehad taken to looking openlyat the sacred texts andbrandishing the temple’sfinest swords. It was here inthe lamp lit darkness of thetemple cellar that both bladeand imagination flew. Theday arrived when that flightwas cut short by the abbot’s

sternvoice.MahLin jumpedlike a child with a handcaughtinthehoneyjar.Theabbot’swordsboomed

out, “It seemsyouaredrawntobothweaponandword,butas novice you must drinkmilk before you eatmeat, aschild you must crawl beforeyou can run. Sword andliteraturelieatthefoundationofourorder, but their properstudy requires both time and

guidance. Report tomorrowand accept your full andpermanent retribution, yourmonthhaspassed.”By morning the stark

confines of the abbot’schamberwerewashedby thesoftlightofthenewday.MahLinsawthescrollshunguponitswallsand thegatheringofsenior monks that sat crossleggedwhere floormetwall.An ancient but exquisite

blade had been brought fromthe templevaultandnowlayprominently upon thepatriarch’ssimpledesk.Mah Lin had never seen

this sword, but knew byinstinctwhat itwas.Often inthequietnessof thenightshehad heard of its existence,whispered conversationsalways wrapped in tones ofawe and reverence. As MahLin wondered if its purpose

was to cut him swiftly fromthe Order, the abbot gotstraighttothematterathand.“Mah Lin, you have

violatedyoursacredtrust,andyour position within thesecloistered walls has beenassessed. It has beendecidedthatyouare tocontinueyourroutine of punishment. Yourseniors say that you learnwell, but there is still muchthey have to offer.Theywill

break you or they will buildyou—timewilltell.In addition, you are now

the keeper of the forge andthe protector of our sacredlibrary. You will be taughtthe secrets of transformingearth into metal and studywith the most venerable thesacred documents which youarenow,withyourlife,swornto protect.” The abbot liftedthe sword from the desk and

walked towards the novice,passing it respectfully to theyoung monk he continued.“This weapon is named TheSword of Five Elements andisthesoulofourdwelling.Itis your blessing and perhapsyour curse. May wisdomguideyouinitspurpose.MahLin,youaredismissed.”And so, as quickly as it

began, it was over.Mah Linwalked from the old priest’s

chambers, still not surewhathadjusttranspired.Theabbotfor his part smiled andconversed with the seniormonks,feelingmuchyoungerthan hismany years.He hadknown all along that thispunishment fit the talentedoffender well, and that MahLinwastheonlyonewiththequalitiesneededforthehonorbestowed.Still reeling from the

morning’s event, the youngmonkmovedlightlyalongthehallway and down the stairs.Alone once more, heexamined every detail of thesword within his hands, andwith the eyes of his soulpeeredintoitsdepth.Steel and parchment were

now his life’s one purpose,andhis spirit sailedupon thewindsofdestiny.

TheSackingOfTheTemple

Selahhadspentherfirstsixyears fatherless, but with noregrets.Byagesevenshewasboth strongand resilient, andthe taunts of older childrenwere quickly silenced with asmall but well aimed fist. In

the quiet shadows of nightshehadoftenseenhermotherlovingly caress the orangerobe by her bedside.Instinctivelysheknewithelda memory and therefore abond. She did not know,however, that it brought hermotherbacktothatnightlongagowhenayoungmonkhadclimbed over the templewalls.Forhermothertherewould

never be anyone else. Fromconception’s first night shewould dedicate herselfcompletely to the study oftraditional medicine. As shetreated her steady stream ofpatients,Selahwouldbetherehelping prepare tonic,antidote, and cure, forailments of all description.Motherandchildwouldoftenforage like free animals forthe rare and potent healing

herbs that grew in thesurroundingarea.Theywouldspeakoftenof the timewhenas an adult she would meetthe father she had neverknown, and he would meetthe daughter he never knewexisted.She was surprised when

the dark and distant plumefrom the temple summit hadbrought forth from hermother tears of sorrow. She

did not understand the griefwith which her motherprepared the cart and said,“We go now to meet yourfather.” She knew only thatthis was not the joyousmeeting that they had talkedabout so often and for solong.Followinghermother’semotional cues, she preparedherself for whatever was tocome,andattheageofsevenfound the strengthof steel in

heryoungandinnocentsoul.Theacridblacksmokethat

had billowed upward fromthe ruined temple hadchanged texture. It hung inthe air like the oily blackplumage of the crowswatching from high places.As the small girl and hermotherstruggledtopull theircart from mountain path toentrance, thelastremnantsofa smoldering gate collapsed

in what seemed an ominousgestureofwelcome.The open courtyard that

had once pulsed with thesounds and routine of sacredmonastic life now screamedsilently from the facesof themanycorpses that lay strewnand scattered about. Theactions of the woman andchild mirrored perfectly theactions of the scavengingcrows; they began

methodicallytopickapartthedead. This, however, was nocommonpillage.Theyhadnointerestinthe

valuable armor and weaponsof the many dead soldiers.Instead theysearchedrobe tosaffron robe lookingrelentlessly forhim.Theysatdefeated and still, until araven cried out from amountainous pile of armoredbodies,awakeningthemfrom

their despair. They bothmoved at the same time, andwith one mighty push, theblack bird flew up and thelarge body at the top wenttumblingdown, revealing thetreasure that the woman andchildhadbeenseeking.TheyhadfoundMahLin.Whilethewomanstruggled

with the task at hand, thesmall girl studied the largeblack bird. It stood calmly,

framed by the open doorbefore it, peering into thedark interior. ‘What was itstaringat?’shewondered,herchildlike curiosityimmediately banished fear.When the raven walkedinside Selah quicklyfollowed. With awkwardhopsitledherdownthestonesteps and disappeared into acool square room. She stoodstill, listening for its

whereabouts and letting hereyesadjusttothedarkness.Her vision cleared and the

scrollsandparchmentsonthemany shelves now becameherfocus.Shescoopedupanarmful.Bydustandsmellsheknew that theywere old andthat she must show them tohermother.By sundown the body of

themonk,his sword,and theancient manuscripts he had

died protectingwere halfwaydown the mountain on therickety wooden cart. Theravenwasneverfaraway.Bydeep night they had reachedherhomeandonlythendiditfly directly to the monk andbegin picking, not at theflesh, but at the many arrowshafts protruding whole andbrokenfromchestandtorso.She and her cub moved

once more in unison. They

pulledopenthebloodstainedrobes. Underneath was thesilk tunic she had spun forhim some eight years ago. Itwas his way of keeping hisone night of transgressionclose to his heart. With atwistandapull,thesilkeasedthemany broad-heads out asfaithfully as it had stoppedtheirfullpenetration.As the door closed behind

them, the woman and child

gathered all their healingskills,andtheblackbirdflewuptojointhedarkness.

Transitions

Thepalemonklaystillbutfor the occasional cough andtheshallowrisingandfallingof his powerful chest. Selahsat quietly and watched hermother work. In stoicconcentration shewent aboutthe business of healing.Infection, blood loss, and

traumawere the enemies shefoughtagainst,but itwas thepowerful love of a womanandherdaughterthatkeptthemonkonthisearthlyplain.Over the next year Selah

grew in loves completeembrace.Herfathertookwellto lifeonthesmallfarm.Forhimtheworkwasjoyousandproductive. Even the mostmundane tasks wereundertaken with nurturing in

mind. The love between herparentswasasvastandsolidas the temple’s mightymountainous foundation. Herfatherdidn’t talkmuchabouthisformertemplelife,butbymoonlight he would looktoward distant peak andremember.Thearmythathadravished

itdidnotpursuehim.Perhapsthey thought that all twenty-one monks had perished,

perhaps they thought nosurviving monk wouldcontinue to live in thetemple’s mountain shadow,or perhaps they were justsmart enough to let sleepingdogslie.Themonkthatknewthe secrets of blade making,and the protector of themonastery’s ancestralwisdom, was now just asimplefamilyman.For the next eleven years

they thrived. Selah, hermother, and Mah Lin livedlife with the heartsunderstandinghowstrongthebonds of love are, and howfleeting life is. They knewthat even if a person lives ahundredyears,itisstilljustablink of an eye to themountain. As a family everyminuteofeverydaywaslivedandlovedtothefullest.The rain was gently

mistingonthedayfatheranddaughter returned happilyfrom their labor in the fields.They worked well togetherand shareda love for all thatwas nature. They spoke onthis day about the changingweather and the coming ofthe new season. As theycrested the last hill beforetheir home, they both fellsilent. Selah felt the blooddrain from her face and her

stomachshrivel.Ataglancetheyknewthat

their life had changed. Asthey neared the house theirpace quickened to a run.Fromadistancetheysawthatthesmokethatalwaysroseupat cooking time was absent.They saw that in its place atthechimney’smouthperchedthe raven. Both knew evenbefore they opened the doorandsawher still formon the

floor, their timehereas threehadended.She lay where she had

fallen, pale to the eye, andcoldlikemarbletothetouch.Herbeautylingeredlongafterher life force had departed.Even in death her featureswere calm, and serenity washer last expression.Mah Linknelt beside his love, closedher eyes, and kissed her onelast time. Selah opened the

fingers of her mother’s coolhandandliftedfromthemtheleaves of a freshly pickedplant. It was woad, theflowering shrub that boilsdown to the richest blue.Selah was surprised becauseher mother had said nothingabout dyeing any silk, shelookedsadlyatthedarkgreenleaves and bright yellowflowers, closed her eyes, andinhaled theirgentle fragrance

deeply.Death had been kind and

swift.Shehadnotsufferedorlingered. Instead she hadcrossed from the world offlesh in one seamless step.Selah’s father said that herheart had just stoppedbeating,andherspirithadleftin a single breath. Perhaps itwas because she had put somuch of her heart into thehealing on that night twelve

years ago. In less than aheartbeat, three had becometwo. For father and daughtertheir strength and their hoperested in the fact that theystillhadeachother.Together they buried her

by the roots of a young oaktree. Despite Death’skindness, the pain of herpassingcutintoMahLinandSelahlikearazorsharpknife.Thatevening,theykneltby

the earthen hearth of thecooking fire. The orangeflames from aromatic woodleapt and licked up the sidesofthemetalcookingpot.Thewater boiled fiercely as itchangedfromliquidtovapor.For a long time there wasonly silence.EventuallyMahLin asked Selah what shesaw. “The elements, father,”was her reply. “Yes,daughter,”washis.

Theystooduptogetherandreached into the fire for aburning bough. They pausedon the way out only longenoughtotossitgentlyontheempty bed. The horse hadalready been hitched to thewagonandthetemplelibraryalready loaded.MahLin haddrawn his sword and slicedfuriously at his long darkhair. The blade was sooncutting across scalp and the

blood flowed freely butunnoticed. By the time hishead was shorn and shaven,the flames had filled thehouse and poured out andupwardsfromeveryopening.Both father and daughter

moved wearily, weigheddown by the pain oftransition. As they turnedtogether and began walkingaway,sheadjusted theswordon his back, much like her

mother would have done. Inthedancinglightoftheragingfireshesawthepentagramonits hilt.Oneachof the star sfive points, a character: fire,earth, metal, water, andwood.By the time they reached

themountain their old houseglowedlikeatinyember,andtheir previous life had beentransformed into just amemory.

Renewal

Selah never questionedwhy or where they weregoing. Thiswas not the timefortalking;itwasthetimeforher unwavering faith in herfather’s judgment.Dawnwasbreaking as they reached thebase of the temple’smountain, and by mid-

morning they had arrived atits blackened summit. Shefollowed him closely withhorseandcart,justasshehaddone with her mother manyyears before. Now, however,shewasnolongerachild,buta woman grown rich in bothwisdomandbeauty.The brick and mortar that

was this place lay scatteredand moss covered, like thebones and armor of its dead.

She held her trepidation incheckandwonderedifthisisthe only peace that war canbring. Their obedient marehad soon found water. Itgrazed happily in the overgrass, content for now withthechancetorest.Bothmonkand soldier lay where theyhadfallen.Selahwatchedherfather solemnly go about thebusiness of gathering andpiling the skeletal remainsof

hismonasticbrothers.Quietlyshe began to help him withhistask.From a respectable

distance she saw her fatherkneel in silence beside theragged robed bones of hisabbot.Tothesehesummonedlife. With closed eyes herecalled time spent andlessons learned. Reachinginto themottled robes of themaster, he removed the

treasured relic he knew theabbot would have dieddefending. The metal shonebrightlyinthesunlight.Placing the object safely

beneath thefoldsofhis tunicthe priest said calmly, “Thevajra, from the hands ofBodhidharma to the earliestmonks of our order.” Thiswas the connection of pastwith present, the object thatlinked steel to scroll. Seeing

the unspoken question in hisdaughter’s eyes he offeredmore.“Thevajra, the library,and the sword – The spirit,themind,and thebody.”Hisrole and responsibilitywithinthetemplehadnotendedwiththe destruction of its mightywalls, it had merely beentransformed.Together on this holy

ground they built a crypt ofblackened stone like a

monument within amonument, and when theyhad finished Mah Lin begantheprayers for thedead.Thefather and husband that shehad known was a good andformidable man, but here atthisdestroyedtempleshesawhis strength gather tounearthly proportions. Sheremembered the monk thatmother and child had foundbroken and lifeless, and now

witnessedhimemergingfromtheashesofthesesacredruinslike the phoenix of ancienttales.Mah Lin continued his

search of the mountaintoplooking for something otherthan bone or fragment. Hechose carefully from thearmor parts and weaponsstrewn about, some stillprotecting a long perishedbodypartandsomestillheld

tightlyinthegripofthedead,as the load of humble cartsteadilyincreased.Ontheeveof the third day, Mah Linfound what he had beenseeking. It lay underneath afallen shield, undisturbed bythe passage of time. Themonk picked it up andcleaned itoffwith the sleeveofhistunic.HecalledtoSelahtoshow

herwhatheheld in thepalm

of his outstretchedhand.Shegazed in wonder at thebeautiful artifact, small butsubstantial, lovingly crafted,and timeless. On the dullbronze pentagon lay theraised metallic image of theimperial dragon. A roundhollow lay clutched in itsfive-clawed talon, andwithinthis circular well a delicateneedle lay suspended andprecisely balanced. As her

father offered this dragon tothefourcornersoftheworld,the needle moved quicklyaround to keep its originalplace.“Selah, we have new

purpose, and now direction,”were the words of thepowerfulmonk, theactionofa loving father was anembrace. Only then, withinthe safety of his protectivearms,didher tears fall freely

upon his dusty shirt. Whenthe storm of her grief hadpassed, he stroked hershimmering hair and gentlywhispered as only a fathercould, “Selah, we will gonow,itiscomplete.”Soitwasthattheytraveled

on, their cart carrying therelics of this consecratedplace, and their heartscarryingtheremnantsoftheirformerpeacefullives.Asthey

descended the path with thewell-loaded carriage, thesharp-eyed raven took flightandfollowed,callingouttheirprogress and championingtheir renewal.MahLinknewthat the second pair of eyesthat had beenwatching themsecretly would also givevoicetotheiractions.He understood that

information would flowupwardfromhiddensentryto

high commander just assurelyasthemountainstreamflowsdownfromsavagepeaktogentlelowland.

ANewDirection

By day and by night theytraveled, stopping briefly tocookandeatwhatsustenancetheir route graciouslyprovided.Movingrelentlesslyfromnorth to southeast,MahLin would consult thespinning needle and studycarefully one of the oldest

parchment maps saved fromthedestroyedtemple.Over the course of their

steady progress, Mah Linexplained that not all themanuscriptstheycarriedwerefrom his former monastery.Some,likethemaptheynowfollowed, came from amucholderplace,anditwastothisplace,theplaceofallorigins,thattheywereheading.Itwasthis sanctuary that would

provide themwith the safetyand protection that theyneeded, and within thesewalls of security they wouldonceagainbuildlife.Selah was very much like

their dependable load-pullinghorse. She never complainedaboutthelengthorseverityoftheir journey, or evenquestioned its nebulouspurpose. She thoughtsometimesaboutthelifethey

had left behind, but realizedthat they were not so muchleaving somethingasmovingtowards something else. Herheart knew that the steadypace they had set had bothdirection from the delicatelyspinning needle, and purposereflected in the calm andserious expression worn onthefaceofherfather.MahLin spoke of aworld

in a state of chaos, like the

destruction from the heavensthat brings the hail, the rain,andthewinds.Hespokeofitchurningslowlyandgrindingsteadily in its natural andunstoppable rotation. Heexplained that the place theynow sought was a place ofrefugefromthistempest.Theancientofancienttemplesitewas the calm within thisstorm, the eye of this ever-expandinghurricane.

The star filled night skycoveredthetwotravelerslikea simple beggar’s bowl. AsSelah’s eyes grew heavy herfather’s grew more vigilant.He had heard the diminutivesoundsofsnappingtwigsandthe slight rustle of leaves inthe underbrush. Now he satcalmly waiting, while hisskilled hands comfortablytouched the familiar woodenswordhandle.

From the darkness steppedthe huddled and half-hiddenfigure of an oldman. Like amoth attracted by the fire’slight he sought to share amorsel, and perhaps someidle nighttime conversation.In truth he desired only thebasic warmth of humancontact. He was garbed inblackened tattered robes thatcried out loudly of neglect,and his head moved coal

black eyes from side to sideto pierce the darkness. As askinny arm reached carefullyfor the hot tea offered, Selahthought about the raven thatfollowedthem.The monk and the beggar

shared the fire’s comfort andtalked well into the quietnight and long after she hadfallen asleep. Their tonewasfor the most part serious,punctuated in places by

honestlaughter.Hewasgonebythetimesheawoke,soshedid not see his partinggesture. The beggar hadsolemnly dropped a largerock onto the skirt of thedying fire. Neither did sheknowthatthedroppingoftherockcoincidedperfectlywiththe falling head of a distantsentry who had just finishedmakinghislastreport.Within the moon’s half

cycle the end of their travelswas in sight. They could seefrom the sparse lowland anoasis of lush green rising upbeforetheminthedistance.Itstretchedformilesuntouchedand unvisited by the fewlocals that lived nearby, foroften a land long sacredcarrieswithin it thepower toremain unmolested. Thearrival of monk, woman,horseandcart,toholyground

attracted little attention, andneedednoexplanation.To Selah this quiet

protectedareacalledtothem,as if it had always belongedto them and them to it. Asthey arrived at its hub, shefelt its welcoming nature. Ithinted once again at securityand family, even though hermother was painfully absentand terribly missed. Theymovedpasttheouterwallsto

the great hall, where theyunloaded the weapons andarmor from the cart of theirtiredhorse.The site was ancient, but

notintremendousdisarray.Itwassimplerthanmosttemplestructures, more home thanplace of worship. She wouldstart with a good cleaning.Withinonlyafewmonthsherwork and womanly touchbegan tobreathevitalityhere

once again. A small butadequate garden was soonplanted and tended. Wildgame was abundant, andbefore long there were cattlegrazing and hens nesting orscratching and pecking astheyroamedfreelyaroundtheplace.Her father renewed his

vows of priesthood. Martialtrainingoccurreddaily,asdidthe study of the ancient

manuscripts that had foundtheir resting place within thestructures simple library. Alldaily chores were done in away that enhanced hisstrength and fighting skills,and by evening’s lamplighthe poured over the writtenmysteries of age-olddocuments.Likehermotherbeforeher,

it was not long before Selahwas collecting and

categorizing the medicinalplants growing in this serenelocation. Also, very muchlike her mother, she hadbegun to feed mulberryleavestotheworms,andspin,dye, and weave their silkenbounty.Herfathermeanwhileseemed more focused thanever.The destroyed ruins of his

former monastery hoveredhighandsilenton thedistant

mountaintop, but its essencelivedonwithinhissoul.Dayby day he methodicallyprepared spirit, mind, andbody, for a challenge hesensed inevitably drawingcloser.The oldest scrolls were

paintedmorethanathousandyearsbefore,fromthetimeofthe First Emperor. Oneparticular passage veiled inthe prophetic tradition held

his attention, and hemeditated daily upon itswords.Hesoaredwithwingsof wisdom to places of lightand darkness and ascendedtoward the serenity ofunderstanding, duty, andacceptance.

“Fromsettingsunamandothcome,beatenbytherain,Drawing sword from

stone, he will risethroughbloodandpain.From slave to king, tofree the beast, that liesbeneaththehill,EternitythelastembraceandDeathmustdrinkitsfill.”

Mah Lin listened to theraven’s call, and within theechoes of its fading cry, the

priestheardmuchmore.The day that she had

finishedmakingherfatherhisrichly colored full silk robesmarkedthecreationofanewweaving, a cloth long agofinishedandonlynowbegun.“Selah,”hesaid,“amansoonarrives. Since the beginningoftimewethreewerewoventogether.Makereadythecart,and give the raven an extratasty morsel. We must leave

to collect him.” Selah wassurprised by the news, butobeyedwithoutquestion.She set toher taskswith a

smile, intrigued by herfather’s enigmatic tone andamused that he had noticedshe had taken to feeding thebird that had long claimedthemasitsown.

SlaughterAndSteel

By theglowofmoonlight,the battalion quietly snakedits way up the templemountain like a greatmythical beast. Some of theold veterans felt that theyoung general’s rise up

through the ranks had beenfartoorapid.Hewasnotwellseasoned in battle, and thefew he had fought had beenlittlemorethanskirmish.Although competent, to

those that knew well thetemper of war, disturbingtraits had surfaced. Thishandsome general chose hisopposition carefully. Theselesser adversaries weredispatchedcruelly.By taking

as few risks as possible hehadmovedup in themilitarymachine, for as the old onesoften joked, “Ambition andavarice are easier to quietlypromote than to loudlyrectify.”The emperor had learned

that this monastery held thesecret of the world’s finestblades. He had watched hisyoung general test onerecently acquired.The spring

steel swords that were thestandard issue of his troopssnapped like twigs under itsonslaught.Beforeanarmyofthese, nothing could stand.Hehadgiventhesemonksthehonor and opportunity ofgifting their country, butciting religion, they hadpolitely refused. Strongprinciple coupled withsuperior arms is a dangerouscombination,andnotonethat

couldbeallowedtosurvive.The general’s past had

secured his first largeassignment. He knew thelayoutofthetemplegrounds.Karma—this direction hadnotbeentheintendedone,yetit brought him back to thisplace. He knew that thesemonks were not a simplecollectionofspiritualmisfits.He knew that they practicedmartialartsbutthattheirway

wasoneofpeace.His rejection by the soft

weakabbot, and the smell ofthedirtyboyreturnedvividlyto his mind and vengeanceruledhis judgment.Hehatedthis place and the monkswithin its walls. Their piety,wisdom, and peace had longceased toholdaplacewithinhis world. They had beengiven the option of life butinsteadchosedeath,andnow

they would taste thebitterness that faith anddevotionbring.By dawn the general and

his entire battalion had takenup their position on themountaintop. The armor ofhorseandridergreedilydrankin the newmorning rays andreflected nothing. Not asingle bird sang out as fivehundred heavily armed andbattle seasoned soldiers

waitedfortheorder.Surprisewould not be necessary forthey held the overwhelmingstrengthofnumber.Althougha mundane operation, itwouldnotbejoyless.The general carefully

reviewedhismissiononelasttime. He alone knew whatwouldbedone.Allthemonksmustdie,andthegreatlibrarywould be carried back andhanded triumphantly to the

emperor; extermination andpresentation. With his firstgesture the heavy oak woodof the temple gate was setablaze.Hesmiledasthefireswerelitagainstdoorsthathadonce been closed in his face.The smoke from the woodstacked upon them curledfrantically skyward, fromblack to white and whiterstill, until angry flames burstforthtodotheirwork.Within

the hour the protectivegateway was weakened andbreeched, the soldierspouredinandtheslaughterbegan.Not even the most battle

hardened expected theresistance they met. In aninstant what the generalthought their strength hadbecometheirweakness.Theyfellbythescore,cutdownbymonk steel like wheat in asummer’sfield.Theystepped

and slipped on their fallencomrades pushed forward bythe weight of their sheernumbers. The void left byabsent birdsong was filledthat morning by thenightmarish screams of thedying soldiers. Inevitably thegore robed monks began tofall, and of them, not onecriedout.He sat upon his horse and

formostoftheconflictstayed

well back and out of harm’sway.Forhimappearancewaseverything.Intheeyesofhismen he must seem to bestrongwhenheknewhewasweak, he must seem to bebrave when he knew he wasfearful, andmust seem to beclear when all thought wasconfusion.The steed beneathhim jostled without directionas, with sword in hand, thegeneral shouted meaningless

orderstohisfallingsoldiers.Heworehisbravadolikea

loudandboastfulcape;acapethat he hoped hid from hismen the sum of all of hisfears. He was prepared forsoftness, but instead facedhardwarriors.Thesemendidnotdielikelambs,butfoughtwith a skill that the generalhad never been allowed toknow.Victory had become abattleofattrition.

Allthemonksthatfellthatfateful morning fought anddied like true warriors, buteveninthecompanyoftheseheroesonemonkstoodabovethe rest.With strength, skill,and courage, this singularmonk inspired his brothersthroughoutthebattle.Heheldhisgroundonagrowingpileofbodies,whiletheremnantsofhismonasticorderfelloneby one. Eventually, only this

one still lived, and the stormof battle raged solely aroundhim. He was the last of hisorder.His silver blade flashed

throughfleshandsunlight,itsrazor edge the border of lifeanddeath.

Revenge

Recognition struck like athunder clap. He knew thismonk. His features hadchanged little—he could stillsmellthedirtylittleboy.Even from horseback the

generalhad to lookupat thesole survivor. The monk

foughtlikeawildanimalhighupon the hill of those whohad fallen under his blade.Steel moved too fast aroundthe monk to be seen, but ontheslowermovinghiltof theyoung monk’s sword, thegeneralglimpsedapentagramwithinacircle.The face of themonkwas

almostcompletelycoveredbythe blood of those that hadtried to take his life. The

vivid colors, the smell ofdying, the sounds of agony;these were memories searedinto themind of the general.But it was the eyes of themonk,eyesthatspokeoftruepower that branded thegeneral’sverysoul.Amidthechaosofwarand

destruction thegeneral sawaman at peace. In the chillingheartofcombathewitnessedmonks inspired and

emboldened by this man’strue courage. He saw menfollow without question. Noamount of blood couldobscuretheterribletruth:thismonkwas everything that hewas not, and everything thathehadwanted,allhis life, tobe.Like a jackal he waited

until the monk was fightingwiththestrongestandlargestsoldierinhiscommand.With

the monk engaged face tofacewiththemassivesoldier,horse and rider moved inquietly from behind. For thetask at hand, timing waseverything.The monk continued to

fight with a strength thatverged on legendary. Thegeneral paused while hisarchers took their positions,andthenheshoutedtheorderto fire. Horse and general

charged forward and upwardto take the head. He movedquickly now to silence thevoice of inner demons as hechargedtowardglory.To the eye all three things

happened at the same time.Tenarrowshittheirmark,thelast sweep of the fallingmonk’sbladecutthroughthehuge soldier’s weapon andfoundtheheart,andthebladeof the general was launched

uponitsdeadlyjourneytoanunprotected neck. But at theedge of life and death, timeslows and events that seemsimultaneous unfold inseparateclarity.Mah Lin did not see the

severed tip of the giant’ssaberflyingpasthisshoulderfor thearrowslandedandhisbody dropped. He did notsense the impending blow tohisneck,norheartheaspiring

assassin behind him screamand fall backwards as thatforgedsteeltipslicedthroughhis face, cleaving bone fromsinew. He did not feel thehulking weight of adversarycrush out his last breath,whispering through arrowholes as it crasheddownandburiedhim.The lower jaw clung

precariously by shreddedflesh to its place upon the

general’s features. It tried toform the order to find andremove the library, but itcould not. Through the painand the fog of seethinghatred, the general lookedback to where the last monkhadstood.Thegiantlaydeadandfallen,andthemonkasifby magic had vanished intothethinmorningair.Thegeneral surrendered to

thedarkness.

InTheEyesOfAnEmperor

In the aftermath of battlethemonkwasnowhere tobefound.Thisruinedmonasterywas now a place of fear andphantom. Ingreat hastewhatremainedof thebattalion leftthe mountaintop. The dead,

even their own, were leftwheretheyhadfallen,andtheliving were gone before thesun had set. They tied theirwounded general securely tohis horse, and for the nextthree days and nights heslipped fitfully in and out ofconsciousness. The image ofthe fearless monk never lefthis mind. It haunted him inhis delirium—the specter ofhisowninadequacy.

While this young generallay recovering fromhis openwound, the emperor’s ownmen had reported that thescrolls had not been found.Theremayhave once been alibrary, but a pile of bodiesand barren shelves were allthat remained. The emptystructure was carefullycombed from floor to ceilingforanyclue,but the timelesscollection of sacred

knowledge had vanished asthoughithadneverbeen.Theblack feather of a namelessbird went unnoticed by themen who searchedunsuccessfullyforscroll,silk,andparchment.The vision of the Son of

Heaven does not compare tothesightofanordinaryman.For the sake of a people, itmust be clear from westerndesert to eastern ocean and

from icebound northland towild and humid southernjungles. The emperor staredthrough the wounded soldierthat lay before him. Heassessed the condition of thebutchered general, and withhis mind’s acumen hesurveyed the success andfailureofthemission.Themonksweredead.The

threatoftheirgreatmetalwasnowremoved.Themethodof

its making destroyed beyondany skill of resurrection.Theloss of this art was aregrettable casualty of war,but the security that itafforded balanced wellagainst the deficit. Themindof the emperor did not stopthere. It browsed within themissing library, and ithungered.Throughout the ages its

secrets had been guarded by

thecloisteredhands thatheldit, its reputationgrownfreelyin rumor. This was not justthe usual collection ofmonasticsutrasandscripture.It was so much more. Inreverent tones it was said tohold thewisdomof the ages,fromboththislandandplacesfar away. Its fading pageswere thought to havedescended from the time ofthe First Emperor. It was

whispered that among itsyellowedparchments,theartsof war rested peacefullybeside the way ofenlightenment, and that eventhe enigma of immortalitywas recorded on its pages.Like the methods of theirmetal this treasure, too, wasgone, but this loss couldneverfindabalance.The general moaned,

fighting his way to

consciousnessonlytofeelthestingofhisemperor’swords.“You are an efficient killingmachine, but much wastrampled in the fray.” Theswollen eyes of the generalblinkedslowlyastheemperorcontinued. “You are now theSupremeCommander,butdonot dare think this apromotion for a job welldone. It is not. Consider itmerely a gift from the times.

The people need heroes, andluckilyyourfacedestroyedinthe service of your emperorhasmadeyouone.”It was officially recorded

asasuccessfulcompletionofmission,but it had takenonehundred and seventy threelives to do it.More accuratebut unrecordedwas the truththatunder thedirectionofanambitious and untestedleader, the strength of the

enemy had been grosslyunderestimated, and that thevalue of what had not beenrecovered far outweighed themeasureofanything thathadbeengained.The pain of the emperor’s

harsh rebuke and theemptiness of his movementuptheranksdidnotfadewiththe healing of his wounds.The commander, however,embraced the power of his

title despite its dubiousorigin. When the woundedleader had healed enough toslur an order, a permanentsentrywas posted at the site,but no order for search orsalvagewaseverissued.The presence of a guard

assured the new commanderthatthecindersoftruthwouldneveragainbestirred,andhehoped that by taking noplunder hemight seal up the

ghosts of his past. For thenext twelve years, thecommander’s man on themountainhadnothingof anyconsequencetoreport.

OldWoundsReopen

The commander hadchanged much in the twelveyearssince theslaughter.Hisoily black hair sat in atopknot, and he had grown abeard to try and hide hisruined face. The armor that

henowworeatalltimeswasornate and polished. Hismemory of that day had notfaded or softened. The deadmonks upon themountaintopwere silent and forgotten bymost,butthefigureofthelastspectral monk still hauntedthegeneral.Hatredhadtakenroot in the darkness of hissoulandgrownlikeatwistedleaflesstree.Thesentryentered thehall

of the commander anddropped in servitude like astone. Hemoved forward onhand and knee, face toground,gratefulatleastnottolook at the grotesquelyslashed features of thecommander’s face. He madehisfactualreportofallthathehad seen from his hidingplace seven days before. Hespoke of monk, woman, andwagon, the collecting of

bones and the building oftheir resting place. He spokeof the prayers for the dead.Still prone, he finished hismonotone and waited to bedismissed.He did not hear the sound

oftheSupremeCommander’ssword being drawn or thesound of his own severedhead hitting the cold stonefloor.Heheardonlythethudof a fated rock, dropped on

the ashes of a distant anddying night fire many milesaway.Theexecutionwasjustified

bysightingcowardice,lackofinitiative, and for notknowing the exact directionof travel. In truth, however,the commander was undone.To hear themonk still lived,andwasindeedamortalman,exhumed the buried demonsof his past, and hatred had

driven him. He felt the painagain as if his wounds werefresh. His right handsqueezed the razor sharpsword tip that hung like ajewelfromachainaroundhisneck.Hestaredbackintothedarkness of events long past,oblivious to the blooddripping from hand to floorand joining the dark poolforming around the sentry’sheadlessbody.

Foreverytwoeyesthereisone mouth, and three fullseasons would pass before atale found itsway to theearsof the commander. Helistened intently to the storyofamonkofgreatstatureandafairyoungwomanfartothewest claiming andtransportingthehumanrefuseof war’s far-flung campaign.Thisthievingmonkfromfirstmeeting had come away the

victor. He had stolen hisplace as aspiring novice,robbed him of his greatestvictory, and now purloinedthe spoils of war. Thecommander sat, a hollowdisfigured leader in acommand that he had notearnedbydeedormerit.Hewaitedimpatientlyover

the next season for moreinformation, but none came.Here the trail would grow

cold, not a whisper not arumor, as if the earth itselfhad swallowed themup.Thecommanderfoundthissilencedeafening. He knew byinstinct thatwhere thismonkrested the scrolls of the lostlibrary would be found, andthat his redemption in theeyes of his emperor lay intheirrecovery.

FirstBlood

Amidtheruggedbeautyofthe highlands, forge andstable were sheltered underone thatched roof. Whilemostofthemenwereraiding,the orphaned child stayedwiththesmithandworkedasbesthecouldforamealandasleeping place within the

straw. Not family as mostwouldknowit,butthesewereallhehad.Somewerekindmostwere

not, his survival hinged onmistrust. At night the boymoved well among the men,filling cups when most weretoodrunktowalkorpour.Hehad his niche, slicinggracefully through thedarkness serving wine andlistening to the rambling

stories of thewarriors.At anearlyageheknewwell tobeuseful, but not visible. Hecould tell by tone when toattend and when to escape,for mood in camp couldchange with a swallow. Theboylearnedwellhowtoseizeopportunity, for in thecompany of brigands andmercenaries mead loosenedpurse strings as well astongues.

The men had fought thatday, a bloody skirmish if thetalkwastobebelieved.Whencoupledwithafullmoon,theboyknewwelltobevigilant.Byfirelighthefelttheeyesofa tattooed warrior upon himand responded cautiously tothesignalformoredrink.Thesmall boy did not like thewaythisonelookedathimortheway that he smiledwhenhis cup had been filled. He

dodged the arm reachingdrunkenly through thedarkness and moved withhaste to serve in the comfortofothers.The night concluded

without event. The boy haddone his work well and wasthe last to find sleep, for themen now lay snoring aroundthe fading fire. He found aprivate place away from thegroup. Standing before the

small tree, he felt the softtouchofitswetleavesonhisface and shivered as hereleasedhiswater.Tiredfromhis long day, he lookedforward to the quiet warmthofhisnest.From the blackness the

manpounced.The cry that would have

issued was silenced as allwind was crushed from hisdelicate body by the weight

ofhisfoe.Hecouldsmelltheman. Alcohol and sweatmingled with the stench ofbad intentions. A tattooedhand gripped the top of histrousers and roughly tried topull them down. The boyknew what was upon him,whatpushedhisfaceintothenight mud drowning himsilently beneath themire.Heknewwhatrapewas.Hemovedpastthepanicof

his voiceless screamsearching for a solution to asituation that seemed beyondhis control. No one couldprotect him, he was trulyalone.Smallhandsgraspedatanything that they couldtouch until the fingers of hisright closed around a driedand broken forest branch.They were called lossoughs,and he had picked them onmany mornings, for nothing

was better to start the fire ofanearlyforgethanthese.Thefamiliarfeelbroughtcomfort,and comfort brought hope.There would be only onechance.His attacker turned the

struggling boy over andfumbled with the task ofloosening his own belt. Hepressedhisfilthyhandacrossthesmallmouthashereacheddown inside his tunic. Here

the boy struck. The thick,pointed stick found an eye.The cry of pain cut throughthedarkness.Itwasthesoundthat should have come fromthe ladbutcouldnot.Withakickofbothlegs,hewasfreeand snatched the warrior’sshort swordaway inbothhistinyhands.Hedidnotstop.He hacked the kneeling

giant savagely. He smelt theblood and felt its warm

wetness paint his face andbody, and still he slashed.The rage that was his lifedrove him onward, unawareof when the man no longerknelt or when the man hadperished. The boy was stillcutting with all his mightwhen the others broke uponthe scene. It was the smiththat wrapped him gently inmighty arms and whisperedsoothing truths, “Vincent,

stopnow,itisenough.”All stood quietly in the

forest,takenbythescenethattheyhadcomeupon.Theboywasbloodsoakedbutunhurt,the warrior did not fare aswell. His corpse wasstretched upon the groundrecognizable only by itsheavy tattoos. The chestwasopen and hollow, and in thesmallclenchedfistofhis lefthand, the boy held the

dripping heart of hisadversary.Asiscommonintheworld

of war and atrocity, nothingmore was spoken of thenight’sevent.Thesmithheldtheboycloselyasheledhimtowards the stable. He sawthelookinthelad’swildeyesand knew that this one nowhad the taste of blood. Thatwould serve him well hethought, as would the short

sword the warrior no longerneeded. By midday he hadfinished sharpening it anew,andthissmallonehadjoinedthe ranks of men. The civilworld of fire and straw wasnowbehindhim.The smith was impressed

withthesharpnessofhisownhandiwork. This child isdifferenthemused,andasheplaced the freshly honedweapon into theboy’syoung

handshedrewhimnear.“Vincent, may the force

that made you guide andprotect your path, and mayGod have mercy on yourenemies.”

TheShield

His first foray into theworld of men was less thansuccessful, and his firstskirmish did not last long.Withachild’s foolishnesshethought itwouldbe themostmemorable, but in fact, hewas left with almost nomemoryofitatall.Hepicked

his target, a large lowlanderwith a wooden shield, andattackedwith all the spirit ofa full grown Celtic warrior.That was his only survivingrecollection.By God’s mercy a large

mercenaryhadbefriendedtheboyandkept awatchful eye.He was skilled enough tofinish what the boy hadstarted, fast enough to pullhim from where he had

fallen, and kind enough tobear thewoundedboyhome.Vincent had beenunconscious for the two-daycarry, the first and onlycasualtyofthisexcursion.Hewas laid groaning upon thefamiliarstrawandhelddownthroughout the night as hethrashed violently againstenemies that only he couldsee.The one that had hauled

him stayed with him,watching to see which waytheladwouldgo.Thesoldierwondered to himself why hehad worked so hard on theboy’s behalf. The smithassuredhimthatthisonewasworthsaving,andthathewasrighttointervene.Like the worst hangover,

morning light brought agonyand confusion.Thedull achein Vincent’s neck contrasted

withthesharppainsshootingdown from his head. Thissobriety was not a pleasantstate, and his missing realitywouldhave tobefilled inbyothers gradually, one painfulfragment at a time.For now,however,helaywherehewasdropped. Eventually hedeployed tentative fingers tosurveyhisdamagedskull.“Asimplefracture,leaveit

alone,” the smith told him,

whilethesoldieradded,“Youforgot about the shield.” Intruth he had forgotten theentire encounter. The event,however, was not withoutlesson.For a Celt the head is the

seat of power, the house ofthe soul, and hiswould haveto be rebuilt. He could notstand. His balance wasundone, and there was nohearing on his left side.

Fingers again explored,dipping into the clear brownfluid that leaked freely fromhisear. Itwas thesmellof itthat disturbed him, for itseemed better suited toanotherorifice.Over the changing of the

next full moon, the boy layrestlessly for the time of hishealing. On the nights whenhe was alone, the buriedmemories of the tattooed

menace he had butcheredsurfaced. These were nowwith him forever, his firstexpressdirectionfromDeath.He wondered why his brainwould haunt him with these,but not release the events ofhisownwounding,forsurelythey would have been morevaluable in his growth aswarrior. Then again he knewthathismind,nomatterhownoble its thoughts, floated in

astinkingpoolofclearbrownfluid.Itsfluvialdischargestilldrippedoccasionallyfromhisdamaged ear. So how muchwasittobetrusted?In time he healed.

Althoughhisbodywasweakfrom inactivity, his hearingand balance had graduallyreturned. The boy came toknowthatdeathwouldbehislife’s work, and he acceptedthiswithoutastruggle.Itwas

clear to him that life wasbrutalandhiswouldprobablybe brief. He held the shortsword in his hand and ran afinger along its edge. Hisbroken head and temporaryfrailty were a blessing, forwith this wound came thestrength of resolution.Vincent sought the one thathadsavedhislifeandbeggedfor any lesson that he couldgive.

Themanwasroughbutnotstupid. There would not beanother carry home. Heintroducedtheboytothewayof the blade, and Vincentreturned the favor byapplying the lessons learnedwitheverincreasingskill.

LifeSpeaks

I knew the dreams wereupon me that first night, butafterwakening to the soundsofwarmconversationandthesmell of the evening mealalready beginning to cook,they quickly faded anddisappeared.Iheardaroostercrowing proudly over his

domain, but continued to liemotionless pretending to beasleep and listening carefullyfor tones of treachery in alanguage I did notunderstand.ForthenexthourI laywith body still but earsactive, expecting anything.Only when I was sure thattherewould be nothing did Istand up and walk into themainroom.Merlin and the Sea Lass

greeted me warmly and bidme sit down upon thecushions that leaned againstthe thick stone walls.Together they examined anddiscussed my torn arm,obviously pleased by itssteady healing. She held mywrist quietly with threefingersasiflisteningtomuchdeeper rhythms, and thenboth looked uponmy tongueas if itwas a visual gateway

to the inner workings of mybatteredbody.Finally andmost strangely

she steadied my headbetweenhergentlehandsandgazeddirectlyintomyeyes.Ithought it might be her wayofspellcasting,butIhadnotthe strength to resist and sostared back into the liquidbrownbeautythatwerehers.Her father interrupted

tersely, indicating points on

my body with a well-seasoned finger, and thensmoothlyshedrewherpouch.My body was alreadyjumping up and back evenbefore my eyes told it thepainless needles werecoming.Iwouldnotbearthiswitchcraftagain,andIbracedmyselfforafight.Thetwowerewideeyedat

my agility, and their easylaughterranginmyears.Sea

LassspokeforbothasMerlintried to collect himself.“Judgingbyyourmanyscars,youhavenofearofswordorspear,yetyouareterrifiedbythe small steel that will helpto make you whole. Father,showhimwhathefears.”Merlin, still smiling, held

out the tinyshardtomeas ifpresenting a flower, and Ilooked at it with wonder. Itwas a perfect round bladed

miniaturesword.Itookitandpushed against it with myfinger. It bent like springgrass on a windy day.Remarkably it reboundedback to its original shape. Ihad never seen metal sosmall, so alive, and soskillfully created. “My fathermade them,” the Sea Lasssaid,“Heisamaster.”Iquicklycaughtthebeauty

of her eyes and spoke

strongly, “Just because heownsmedoes notmake himmy master.” She mimickedmytoneandreplied,“Thatisbothhonestandprofound,butI was referring to his abilityto create with metal.” Irealized as they began tolaugh again that both herstatements were indeed true,andthatIhadmisunderstood.I pensively allowed theneedletreatmenttocontinue.

Afterwards I was served adelicious breakfast of rice-gruel, fruit, and honey, andfelt more an honored guestthanaslave.AsIfeasted,SeaLass offered a well-packedlunch to her father as heturnedtomeandspoke,“Igonowtotendtheland.Youarestill very weak, stay withSelah and help her with thehousehold chores. We willspeak more this evening.”

With thathe left, stuffinghislunch inside the chest of hissimplework shirt, and Iwasalone with the one who hadalreadybeguntoenchantme.Shemovedwithgraceand

lightness around the house,unconcerned bymy presenceand sometimes singingsweetly inherownlanguage.I wondered why they trustedme, for even weak I am adangerousman.AsIstaredat

her back, I reasoned that shewouldnotbehardtokill.Sheturned to me and smiledinnocently, untouched by thedarkness of my thoughts.Holding two buckets sheinvited me to follow herwhileshedrewmilkfromthecows.Outside she flung down

oats for the clucking hens,stopped and stooped by thepath, lookinguponabustling

nest of large black ants. Asweapproachedthefields,shewalked to the hedgerow andseemedtospeaktothebriers.The cows came running toherlikelargehappypets,andsoon both buckets wereoverflowingwith their frothywhitebounty.As she looked up into the

clear blue sky at the highflying birds, I found myselfdoing the exact same thing.

“What is your forecast?” sheasked softly. It seemed astrange question for such abeautiful day. “A fair andsunnyspringday,”washowIanswered. Smiling now, shesaid,“Ifwemovequickly,wewill be back to the housebefore therainsunleash.”Nosooner were we insideplacing the buckets of milkon the table, than the skiesopened up and the heavy

downpourbegan.I was quiet for a while,

grateful for the warmth anddryness of the house, unsureabout questioning her arcanepowers, but curiosityoverruled and I asked herhowsheknew.“Thehens,theants, the hedgerow, and thehigh flying birds all told methe same story of therainstorm coming,” she said,smiling at the look on my

face.“Don’tworry;talkingtothe world around us is notwitchcraft.Itisthewisdomofthe old ways, passed frommothertodaughtersincetimewasyoung.”I heard her words without

really understanding, butknew clearly that thosewords,ifutteredinmyworld,were more than enough tohave her bound, burned, andscattered by thewinds.As if

reading my thoughts, sheplaced a comforting hand onmy good shoulder and spokein a tone thatwas both calmandreassuring.“Vincent, when you see

thatthehenswillnotstrayfarfrom where they sleep, youknowthatastormiscoming.”She continued evenly, “Thedirtpiledinbeadsaroundtheopening of the ant’s nest isspread wide and funnel

shaped on a fine day. Whenthey build the opening highandnarrow,itisbecausetheyfeel the changing weather.Not even the tiny creatureswant their home flooded andtheirfamilydrowned.”She handed me a cup of

warmmilkandtea.“The leaves on the briers

turntowardthecomingstormandcurluplikecupstocatchthe water. The birds that fly

so high are riding and risingon huge pockets of airdisplacedupwardbythenextone moving in and underfrom the direction of thedistant ocean. It is notwitchcraft; it is just listeningto the world of nature as itspeakstous.”I could hear Merlin

returningfromhisday,andashis daughter rushed to meethim, I heard the raven’s

distant call carried upon thewinds. The life that I hadlived had evaporated like thedesert dew. It had risen fromme somewhere over theblistering sands. I weighedthe memory of my formergrim existence, and knew inheart that it was not worthfighting for. I had fallenhelpless and frail into thisstrange world, like a childlost in an unknown

wilderness. There was noescape. I closed my eyes tobring the darkness and drewdeepbreathtodrinkitin.Exhaling long and slow, I

took my first step on a roadthat I had never walked.Within my soul, the wordsgathered and then, “Isurrender,” tumbled outthrough my parched crackedlips.

Dreams

Merlin’s return wasmarked by a kiss from hisdaughter. If they had heardmysubmission theymadenoresponse. His sharp eyessmiled to me warmly. Hishandswereblackenedandhisclothes held the odor of aclean fire’s smoke. As he

prepared to wash, the SeaLass threw in the finishingspices to the evening mealand bidme set the bowls onthelargeroundtable.Whileweate,theSeaLass

talked to her father happilyabout her day. Shepantomimedas she spoke, sothat I could guess hermeaning.Iwasentertainedbyher gestures as she spokeaboutthestateoftheanimals,

the eggs collected, and thesudden downpour. The foodthat we ate was fresh andhearty, flavored artfully withspices the likes of which Ihad never before tasted.Sharing a family meal wasalso something I had nevertasted, and I was grateful tobepartofit.Eventually the animated

conversationcamemywayasMerlin knowingly caughtmy

eye and asked, “Vincent,what did you dream lastnight?” I felt like one struckbylightningasthememoryofmy night visions floodedbackintomyconsciousness.Igatheredthedetailsinmy

mind and prepared to speakmy dreams. “Merlin,” Ibegan, “I dreamt of amountainoffire.Thethreeofus were strangely walkingtoward it instead of running

away. We could see thesmokeriseupanddarkenthesun, and we could hear themountain roar and cry outwiththepainsofbirth,andinour legs we could feel theearth beneath us tremble andshudder. The wounds in itspeak and sides oozed thickmolten blood that ran downbeyond its base like a slowmoving river. We could feelits oven’s heat on our faces,

andwhiteashwaslandingonour clothes like a newwinter’ssnowfall.”Therewasadeepsilenceat

the table as Merlin and SeaLass collected their thoughts.It was clear that my dreammeant more to them than ithad to me. The Sea Lasspoured steaming tea intothree small cups. Merlinsipped quietly before hespoke,and thenhesaidonly,

“Your dreams are strong.”With awaveof his arm theyrose and proceeded down alarge hallway. I followedthem out and into a sparselamp