Bloodless

by Roberto Vecchi

  ********

  There was a reckoning. He knew there would be. All things upon their healing produce a price that has to be paid. But his reconciliation was not founded on the personal principles of obtaining forgiveness for a wrong he had committed, at least not in his estimation. He had simply performed to the excellence he was capable of and voiced the beliefs he felt inside of him, thereby expressing two of his organization’s founding and central principles. However, in doing so, he found that the principles went only so far as they did not contradict an unspoken rule in The Brotherhood - Masters taught and students learned. And he had learned, repeatedly. Though still perhaps their better in combat, he was, upon his returning, subjected to their other favorite disciplinary lesson, that of exercise. But exercise was nothing new to him, nor was it an unwelcomed enterprise. In fact, all things ending in the building of his body through the further forging of his will were welcomed as a pleasant necessity. However, the additive sum of rigorous exercises presented to him by each of his Masters was beginning to wear away at his muscle’s considerable fortitude.

  Yet, he knew it was time to move, time to act, and time to prepare. He did not know why, though he never did, but he was sure his intention lead him back to the monasteries and into the unforgiving tutelage of The Brotherhood. And because of that, the expressive intent of restoring his good standing with them, he needed to subject himself to whatever reparations they deemed equivalent to his perceived crime. Judging by the length and severity of his punishing exercises, some of which he was sure were created for him alone, his offense ran deep. Yet, he knew that offense, at its core, was nothing more than a selfish estimation of oneself to promote oneself, one’s beliefs, one’s convictions, and one’s agenda above that which was considered beneath oneself. As such, he did not blame them for their punishment, nor did he vow to exact any revenge based upon his own perceived offense, for he was not offended. Instead, he was further convicted to persevere. And on this morning, with the chill of late autumn seeping into his awareness, he would need that conviction.

  Before the rays of the morning sun broke the silence of night, before even the nocturnal creatures sought the comfort of their lairs, and well before the rest of the students had been called to breakfast, he was instructed to perform a full squat while balancing a beam on his thigh. Upon the beam was placed a leveling device. If it fell off center, even for a moment, when the Masters were evaluating his posture, he would have to begin the hour again, regardless of how much time he had already completed. He was not denied food; however, it had become part of the exercises. During this one, while all of the students were passing him by, no doubt he was being used as an example of what awaited them should they deviate from their teachings, his plate of food was placed on the beam of wood on his thighs. He was then instructed to eat, but could still not allow the level to become uncentered. As a direct reflection of his unwavering determination, the wood and hence the level did not move. Much to the irritation of his Masters, they had been unsuccessful, thus far, with their attempts to provoke his failure. Unknown to him, however, they held a meeting late in the night with the specific endeavor of creating a series of final physical tests designed solely on the basis of their impossibility.

  “Vennesulte, you have performed well,” said Master Lioith.

  “Thank you, Master Lioith. It is Vennesulte’s desire to amend the wrong Vennesulte has committed,” he lied. For the better portion of his life, the young monk had lived without the understanding of purpose existing beyond the moment he was currently in. That is not to say he did not have purpose, he did; however, it was different from what other’s identified it as. Most of the time, when he heard his instructors, fellow students, and others he met outside of the monastery walls, speak of purpose, they referred to it on a grand scale, a sort of destination, that upon its fulfillment, one had completed something or reached something preempting their continuance within said purpose. But that is not what he felt. That is not what he knew, and that is not how he acted. For him, purpose was defined only by fulfilling the necessity of the moment. He knew he needed to be restored into full membership of The Brotherhood. Therefore, he needed to persist through whatever reprisals they deemed appropriate regardless of his agreement. So, in this moment, while he did not believe he committed any offense toward them, he needed to present himself as if he had. So, while he lied in reference to the truth of his feelings, he remained true to his moment defined purpose.

  “I must admit, young Vennesulte, I had not anticipated your compliance so readily. It is good to see. You will rise within The Brotherhood, that is, once you have atoned for your offense,” said Master Lioith as he examined the leveling device while Vennesulte ate.

  “Thank you, Master Lioith. Vennesulte wishes only to serve The Brotherhood,” he said between small bites. While he was permitted to eat only because the successful completion of his punishment and retraining required much physical strain, he was not, however, allowed to eat what the other students ate. While they enjoyed the full complement of a rigorously nutritious diet, one rich and deep in the tastes of a multitude of herbs and spices, he was relegated to the traditional fasting meal of a tasteless paste meant only to provide energy not pleasure. Because of their strenuous physical routine, one that was never suspended for any reason, the monks of The Brotherhood would fast in the only manner they could, taste. And while they believed in the energetic and healing properties contained naturally in herbs and spices, when fasting, they eliminated their inclusion into their recipes. The end result was a horrible gruel void of taste and thick in its coating.

  “When you have finished your meal, meet me inside the training gauntlet. Your final test awaits you there,” said Master Lioith while turning and walking away without waiting for a response from the young monk. As the last of the students headed to their breakfast passed him, some offering apologetic glances, others slightly snickering, and yet others stopping to examine the leveling device, he finished his meal, setting the bowl down on the wood plank. He slowly rose to his full height, now considerably taller having grown over the last year, and walked over to the washing area to clean his bowl. He returned the wood plank to its holding bin and slowly walked to the training gauntlet to meet Master Lioith.

  The training gauntlet was located down a path through the woods. It was intentionally located away from the main campus of the monastery to allow for a natural time of focus and communion with nature for both students and instructors. The Gauntlet had been used for the most traditional and most rigorous training, therefore, the gentle walk through the forest was a great reminder that while a foreboding, and physically intense destination lay in waiting, one could still progress toward it with a calm mind and calmer spirit. While the combined and unified techniques of warfare were taught and practiced within the large courtyard, the individual techniques were perfected here, in the solitude of nature where such things as loneliness and solitude were dissolved by the always present reminder that one was never alone as long as one was alive.

  “I trust your walk focused your will upon this final endeavor,” said Master Lioith as Vennesulte walked into the central clearing. There were votive candles, at least thirty of them, creating a circular boundary for The Gauntlet. Behind each candle stood one of the Masters of the Brotherhood. Not just this monastery’s chapter, but The Brotherhood as a whole. They were dressed in their traditional battle clothes absent of any protection greater than the cloth fabrics used in their construction. Each of their faces were hidden within the folds of the hoods, a tactic used to further shroud their organization into mystery. Though he was able to identify several of the Masters from their posture, there were three he was not. It was those three who stepped into the center to stand opposite him.

  “Have you prepared?” asked the monk on the left.

  “Vennesulte is ready,” said the young monk, confident in his ability.

  “I think not,” responded the monk on the right.

  “Ve
nnesulte exists beyond thoughts. As such, there is only what is and what is not. And Vennesulte is ready,” he responded as he sank his right foot behind him preparing for the beginning of his gauntlet.

  “We will see,” said the monk in the middle.

  In his travels from Monastery to Monastery, after he had been exiled from his first one, he had met many of the masters, which is to say he met them through only his passive observations. And in all of travels, he had observed many fighting styles of many of them. While they were all impressive, as much as he could be impressed, he had never come across the combined coordinated fluidity with which the monk on the left and the monk on the right attacked. Had he not been previously readied, his gauntlet would have been over very quickly. As it was, however, he was barely able to sidestep, duck, twist, and then jump allowing him to avoid their first attack without harm. Yet, they were relentless in their pursuit of perfected timing and utilized it to its fullest allowing him no opportunity to regroup and counter attack. After a particularly dizzying display of footwork wherein Vennesulte was forced to retreat away from one of the monks and into the range of the other, he had not anticipated the odd angle from which a punch was launched, and landed. The young monk had been hit before, but never had he felt the reverberations so deeply inside his gut. It was as if the monk’s fist was able to reach inside him and strike his internal viscera. He winced. They grinned. And that was their undoing. At least, it would have been had one of the student monks not interrupted the most sacred of training sessions in a frenzy of fear and worry.

  “Masters! We are under attack!” he said as he almost tripped and ran into one of the competing masters.

  “Where?” asked the central monk, one of the three who confronted Vennesulte.

  “The western edge! There is an entire army!” shouted the student.

  The master slapped him across the face with the quickest flick of his arm, almost imperceptibly so, “Gain yourself. We will impose our will upon the intruders,” he said. “Let us exact upon them the gauntlet of their offense. To arms Brothers, we defend what is ours!” In an instant, the masters began running to confront those who would dare attack The Brotherhood directly.

  Not since its initial formation had anyone dared to engage them in battle outside of their lands let alone within their own homes. Woe to the intruder who dared insight the wrath of the monks of The Brotherhood. Though they possessed no armor and used no weapons with edges, they comprised possibly the most effective and efficient fighting force Avendia had yet to see in a coordinated effort. Preferring to conduct their way of life in the isolated confines of their Monasteries, not much had ever been known about them except on one occasion when they were challenged by the city guard.

  It was rumored, largely because they were so unknown, that the male orphans who were invited inside their walls were mistreated and subjected to a whole array of torturous endeavors. Again, because there was no first-hand knowledge observable by a person of import or influence, the accusations, baseless as they may have been, were largely accepted as fact. Because of this, when the monks of the monasteries released their Doctrine Imperious forming the separate entities into a centralized way of life apart from the sovereign dictates of other governing bodies, including the laws of the Silver Empire itself, they were naturally challenged to a stalemate. And when that stalemate did not provoke the acquiescence desired, they were attacked. The sound beating of the city guard that transpired was enough to propel the legend of The Brotherhood monks into immortality. Such as it was, the incredible feats of combat were naturally exaggerated, though no exaggeration was really necessary. Because of that single battle, The Brotherhood won its independence and established itself as a force outside of the laws and touch of those who would seek to change them. And to this day, no one attempted to assert their physical dominance over them.

  Vennesulte ran with them, as one of them, to the western edge of their property. And while they had expected to see an invading army, they were not altogether prepared to see such formidable numbers. When all of the monks were assembled to stand against the invaders, Vennesulte estimated their number to exceed three hundred. And while, under normal conditions, the three hundred monks would have been able to stand against nearly ten times their numbers, these were not normal circumstances, and neither was this a normal army. But as the three monks who faced Vennesulte in his gauntlet strode out to meet the leaders of the invading army, they were unprepared to face a foe this mired in unnatural power. When no compromise had been made between the two representative parties, each returned and prepared to engage the other, both with equal confidence they would prevail. However, only one side would, and unlike the legends of past, it would not be the monks of The Brotherhood.

  As physically proficient at they had become, reflecting the absolute pinnacle of physical accomplishment, they were still just that, physical and limited by their physicality as elevated as it had become. So, after the battle had raged for a short time and it was clear the monks were going to be quick with repelling the invaders, the pace of the battle was altered by non-physical influences. As the monks began to lose ground, previously an impossible reality, another reality, even more impossible, was becoming probable – The Brotherhood would fall. And when the three central monks fell to the brutality of a magically enhanced militia, it broke the collective wills of them all. Though they were bolstered momentarily by the enhanced, emotionally charged energy of seeing their leaders fall, they were unable to resist the tide of evil being driven by a gravitational force greater than the twin moons. As such, when Vennesulte saw the last of his brothers overcome by the flood of swords and arrows, his purpose became to survive, not because he wanted to survive, but because, in this moment, he needed to survive.

  *******

  In all of her years knowing him, she had seen him this close to death on only one other occasion. Yes, she had seen him injured many times before, but in each of those many instances, he had been able to care for himself. This time, just like the first time, had had not been found and placed in the care of her skilled healers, he would not have been so fortunate. Kinarin. What an enigma he had remained. He had been instrumental in her rise to Guild Master, not that she had ever planned such an ambition. However, shortly after the night she had him take Torrick to the orphanage, a surprising series of events arose ending with her sitting at the helm of a ship much greater than one she had ever thought to sale. In his youth, he often spoke about the impartiality of The Guild, though not openly and not until he was sure he could trust her. But when it began to degenerate into its own lust for prosperity and power, he became increasingly disgruntled. When he could contain his dissatisfaction no longer, he confronted the Guild Master with his concerns. This confrontation immersed her into a game of intrigue and illusion, that without his help, she would never have emerged.

  And then there was his newest pupil. Such a long time had passed since he agreed to train a new student in the field, she was surprised to receive his report stating such. She had tried to assign him students throughout the years, yet her message would always be returned, torn in half. He did supervise several in the field contracts, but he had not taken a student of his own for nearly ten years. She supposed this was because the only one he did agree to train had died as a result of his miscalculation. That he took on this boy as a student, and one not assigned from The Guild, spoke very loudly regarding their connection. Had she not seen the innate resemblance for herself, she would never have believed they were related. However, after seeing both of their faces as they were cared for in beds next to each other, she could not deny it. They had to be family.

  As she was examining Kinarin’s face from the comfort of a rather uncomfortable chair between their beds, she heard the boy ask, “Will he be ok?” His voice was week, though she expected as much because these were the first words he had been awake to speak in the three days he was with her. That is not to say he had not spoken any words whatsoever. In his unconscious
slumber he had spoken a few, though they were too soft to understand.

  “Yes. If there is one person who can survive injuries that severe, it will be Kinarin,” she said prompting a deep sigh of relief from the boy. “It is no small thing to best one of my assassins in combat, let alone two of them, and let alone him. Tell me what happened.”

  “You. You are the Guild Master?” he asked weekly.

  “Indeed, I am,” she answered.

  “You are not what I expected,” he said, his voice growing a little stronger.

  “No, I suppose I am not,” she replied chuckling. “I am Nadalize Tugori, Mistress of The Guild and Royal Concierge to the High King.”

  “Where am I?” he asked.

  “You are in my quarters within The Guild’s headquarters in Pretago Cor,” she answered.

  “How long have we been here?” he asked.

  “Three days,” she said wiping his brow with a damp cloth sitting in a pail at the side of his bed. “How do you feel?” she asked him.

  “I feel sore, tired, and weak,” he said, grunting as he sat up.