by Ryan Kirk
But out there, it was his own will against that of nature. Survival was victory. The task was difficult, but it was straightforward.
A welcome change over his current life.
Weariness settled deep in his bones, a fatigue born of melancholy. He had dedicated his entire adult life to the preservation of the monasteries, but failure haunted his steps, just the same as it did the expeditions who returned from the mountains. He could fight against rebels, investigate every traitorous monk, but he stood in the way of an avalanche of change.
Since returning to the monastery, Delun had caught up on sleep, but his depression was as deep as ever.
He sensed Taio about the same time he heard him. They were all getting older, but Taio had aged well. The abbot had many years on Delun, yet he still climbed the stairs of the wall with strength and grace.
Taio stood next to him, calmly enjoying the view.
“It never gets old.”
Delun agreed. If there was one place in the world where he could feel at ease, it was on this wall looking out over the untamed wild.
Home.
“You have spent little time with the other monks,” Taio observed.
“I think both sides prefer it that way.”
Delun’s welcome had been less than warm. Ten years ago, in Kulat, Delun realized his mission wasn’t just to protect the monasteries. Sometimes he had to limit them.
He’d seen firsthand what happened when a monastery seized too much power.
Threats against the monasteries were easier to track and simpler to crush. Extreme thinking within the monastery posed the far greater challenge. Very few monks went so far as to betray the vows of service they made to the empire when they completed their training. Most whispered to one another at night, or spoke softly around an evening fire.
A select few pushed too hard, though. They broke their vows, bringing Delun’s justice upon them.
The work was necessary, but it earned him few friends among his own kind. Even here at his home monastery, the monks avoided him.
“You don’t have to continue,” Taio said, understanding the direction of Delun’s thoughts.
“Who else would carry on? No doubt many would volunteer to seek our enemies, but few would accept the other work.”
Taio leaned against the stone wall, staring off into the distance. Delun had never seen him more hopeless. He didn’t argue against Delun’s cynicism.
“Do you ever fear that we cannot keep the peace?” Delun asked.
“Every day. But I refuse to surrender to despair.”
“How?”
“There is some hope. Many monks still hold to the spirit of the vows. I think most just want to serve and be accepted.”
Delun didn’t share Taio’s optimism. In his experience, more monks talked about controlling the empire than serving it.
“Have you been to Kulat recently?” Taio asked.
The shift in topic surprised Delun. “Not since Guanyu.”
“Yang has done well as abbot. He writes us all frequently. His doors are always open and citizens come and go frequently. He isn’t popular with many abbots, but sometimes I wonder if his ideas aren’t worth pursuing.”
Delun shook his head. Yang’s ideas broke with tradition. They spit on the meaning of being a monk. Delun had been instrumental in Yang’s ascension, but his feelings remained mixed on the subject.
Taio stood up, his back straight, command in his voice. “Don’t judge Yang’s ideas based on tradition alone, Delun. Think on this, if nothing else: For a decade you have traveled to every corner of the empire seeking justice. Yet you’ve never needed to return to Kulat.”
The thought had never crossed Delun’s mind. Once Taio mentioned it, though, he could think of nothing else.
The abbot turned to look down into the monastery. Monks hauled tables, and they set places in preparation for the Harvest Festival. The promise of this evening’s celebration drove the young men of the monastery, lighting a fire in their eyes.
When Taio looked back at Delun, he no longer played the role of an old friend. He was the abbot of Two Bridges, one of the most powerful positions in the empire. “Your final task, Delun, is to bring a lasting peace to this land. You must bring together the monks and the citizens of this land so the empire can flourish. No longer can we react and control. We must lead.”
Delun bowed, accepting the command, impossible as it was. He was nothing if not an obedient servant of the empire.
Taio softened and laid his hand on Delun’s shoulder. “I know well the weight you carry, but I know you can show us a new way. Celebrate tonight, and tomorrow we’ll discuss some of my ideas.”
They enjoyed the view together for a few more minutes, but then Taio drifted off, other responsibilities demanding his attention.
Delun looked out over the view for a while alone, then went down the stairs to help with preparations. The younger monks didn’t speak often to him, but they didn’t turn down the assistance of another pair of hands.
It was early afternoon when Delun heard a disturbance at the gate to the monastery. Delun looked up from sweeping the grounds to study the interruption. He noticed little of concern except for the raised voices. The commotion passed in a few minutes, and Delun pushed the matter out of his mind.
A cart from Two Bridges soon came through the gates. Several casks rested within, the whole collection pulled by a pair of horses. The casks held wine and beer for the evening’s festivities. The monks wouldn’t partake much, if at all, but Delun wondered if even that longstanding prohibition was slipping. Most of the drink was for the people supposedly coming up from Two Bridges tonight.
Delun wondered at that. Although many citizens traded frequently with the monastery, few made the journey up the mountain for recreational purposes. But a large contingent was supposed to arrive in time for the evening meal. Delun’s questioning had revealed that no one, not even Taio, knew more than that.
The cart driver deposited the casks and began his journey down the mountain. It seemed unusual that the cart would leave. The monks assumed most people would remain as guests overnight, given the difficulty of the journey up and down the mountain. Delun assumed the merchant would have remained until the celebration was over tomorrow morning to save himself a trip.
With nothing else to do, Delun returned the broom he had been using and climbed the monastery wall once again. Few tasks brought him as much peace as watching the mountains in their splendor.
He lost track of the time he spent on the wall. He breathed deeply of the cool mountain air. Slowly, his body relaxed.
Suddenly, his world exploded, fire accompanied by a deep, booming thunderclap. The blast threw him off the wall, cartwheeling through the air.
He barely managed to get his legs underneath him before he hit the stone. He felt his ankle give way as soon as he landed, but he kept his body loose and rolled with the impact. His body came to a skidding stop a few feet from the edge of a fatal drop-off.
He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, unmoving. His breath didn’t come easy, but it came. Perhaps he blacked out for a few minutes.
Concern for his brothers overwhelmed his pain. The explosion had come from the courtyard.
The casks.
How many had been hurt? He pushed himself to his feet, treating his left ankle gingerly. It didn’t feel broken, but his stomach twisted whenever he put too much weight on it. He shuffled and crawled his way around the wall, grateful the builders of the monastery hadn’t built all the way to the edge of the ridge. That decision, over a hundred years old, had saved his life today.
When he came around the corner that revealed the road leading up to the monastery, he stumbled at the sight of the desecration.
The gate and the surrounding wall no longer existed. The casks had been placed relatively close to the gate, but the explosion had torn a hole in the stone wall that looked like a giant’s fist had made it. Delun shuffled to the gap that had once been a gate.
The damage to the wall was nothing compared to the devastation within. Evidence of the massacre was everywhere. Against a wall, a monk lay propped up at an odd angle, eyes open and staring. A dismembered arm stuck out from the snow, a brutal parody of a brother waving goodbye for the final time.
Delun wasn’t the only survivor. Several monks wandered the wreckage, looking for signs of life, eyes wide with disbelief.
He found Taio. The abbot lay, unmoving, out in the open, close to where the explosion had been. He didn’t see any visible damage. Taio’s bones had either collapsed or his organs hadn’t withstood the pressure, turning to jam inside him. Delun knew the type of injuries intimately.
They were how a monk’s attack killed its target.
Delun knelt down next to the man he had called a friend and master. They’d known each other for all of Delun’s adult life.
Delun didn’t have any tears to shed. A cold mountain wind blew through the wall where the gate had been, cutting through his robes. He glanced down the path, making sure there weren’t others on their way to take advantage of the chaos and suffering.
The path was as silent as their departed brothers.
He felt nothing.
He was tired and empty. This had been his home, his sanctuary, the place where he could come and feel safe.
Now that was gone.
His friend was gone.
Delun just knelt there, keeping Taio company.
It wasn’t enough, but it was all he could do.
6
Lei grinned as he bounced around in the rickety cart. It had been years since he had ventured farther than the small town of Galan below his village, and he was remembering how much he enjoyed traveling.
When he had come to the area many years ago the road that stretched between Galan and the larger city of Kulat had been near the edge of an expansive forest. In the intervening years, the forest had grown, swallowing the road and swaddling it in shade. Pine trees grew on both sides, their earthy scent permeating the air.
He was here thanks to Daiyu. When he told his wife that he had turned down an offer to visit Kulat, she immediately scolded him. The memory of her words had brought the grin to his face.
“You will not decline such an invitation on my account. I’m not going anywhere soon, so go.”
Her encouragement represented a shift in longstanding beliefs. Once, they had pushed the world away enthusiastically. Doing so allowed them to escape the influence of the empire. The emperor and lords left them alone so long as Lei voluntarily isolated himself. His self-imposed exile purchased them a life lived in peace.
Now that she was dying, Daiyu desired his reengagement with the world.
She wanted him to live well once she passed.
He forced the thoughts aside. Merely visiting Kulat wouldn’t violate his implicit agreement with Lord Xun, and Lei was curious about the developments Yang had spoken of. High in the mountains, Lei wondered about the changing relationship between the power of the monks and those who wielded the gifts.
Age and experience had increased Lei’s ability by several orders of magnitude. But in recent years the nature of his ability had shifted. As a young man, he believed his gifts had been his own. The power had come from his body and will. Now the power he summoned felt more remote, connected to a source that defied description.
Lei’s introspection was cut short by the cart coming to an intersection and turning toward Kulat. In a few minutes they rumbled out of the forest and into the grassy plain that surrounded the town.
Lei thought his first visit to Kulat in years would merit a greater reception, but not a single person noticed his arrival. He supposed that to most passersby he was just another old traveler. Lei slid off the back of the cart and thanked the merchant who had given him the ride. The cart turned a corner and disappeared, leaving Lei alone in the city.
Kulat had grown since he’d last visited, the streets filled with people in the aftermath of the Harvest Festival. Though Daiyu had ordered him out of the house, he waited until the festival was over to make the journey. Most people looked forward to the annual celebration. Lei dreaded the anniversary of his terrible battle with Fang.
Though the city had grown, Lei still knew the approach to the monastery. He made his way through the crowd, but was soon greeted by a young man pushing through the throng of people to reach him.
The young man stopped directly in front of him. “You must be Lei.” The man looked eager.
“I am.”
The man noticed Lei’s confusion. “I’m sorry, I’m Wu, a student of Yang’s. We sensed you approach Kulat, and they sent me to escort you to the monastery.”
Lei hid his frown. He needed no escort. Old suspicions bubbled to the surface. Was Yang hiding something, or was he extending his hospitality?
Lei didn’t see much harm in following the eager student. He gestured forward and Wu led the way. The young man couldn’t stay silent for more than a moment. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“You can call me Lei.”
“Thank you, sir, I mean, Lei.” He took a breath. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Sorry, sir. It’s just that we’ve all heard a lot about you. Master Yang says you might be one of the strongest people who has ever lived.”
“I doubt that.”
Wu gave him a knowing smile. “Of course, sir.”
Lei sighed. He already regretted his decision to visit.
Wu led Lei through the open gates of the monastery. He hadn’t stopped talking the entire walk. Mostly, Yang’s student was curious, and although Lei was tired from the journey, he didn’t want to dissuade the man’s enthusiasm. He answered questions politely, but remained eager to rid himself of his escort.
Nothing in Wu’s behavior suggested anything but kindness from Yang. They had taken a straight route to the monastery, but Wu was more than happy to show Lei down side streets when he asked. The student’s behavior put Lei thoroughly at ease.
Lei’s first glance inside the walls of Kulat’s monastery surprised him. Over a dozen people in white robes were in the courtyard, engaged in a dizzying array of tasks.
One woman was leading a group of what appeared to be elderly citizens in a series of stretches Lei recognized as the final part of a monk’s daily training. The gentle movements eased the body after a long day of practice, or, it seemed, a long span of years.
In another corner a white-robed man led a group of children through the martial forms of the monastery. Lei recognized parts of the form, then realized they had altered it to accommodate those who weren’t gifted. The mixed group of boys and girls were throwing themselves into the training with all the enthusiasm youth could generate.
This was Yang’s dream, then. Lei felt a strange mixture of emotions at the sight. In many ways, Kulat was an echo of his own childhood. The forms were familiar; the movements memorized by his own muscles.
But this was not the monastery as he recognized it. This was a monk’s knowledge and heritage, shared among all.
He was surprised to find he held a bit of resentment in his heart.
Lei agreed with Yang. The monasteries needed a new way forward. He approved of what he saw and yet it was hard to see the secrets of the monastery laid so bare.
Lei calmed himself the way his masters had taught him as a child. A deep breath in through the nose, a slow exhalation through the mouth. He hadn’t thought himself so petty. He recognized his resentment for what it was.
If the monastery’s teachings were open to all, they no longer held the glamor they once did.
Lei knew the idea was foolish, yet there it was. He recognized his pride and let it go. After a minute in this place, he knew he was looking at the future.
He saw some awe on visitors’ faces, but the fear the monastery usually inspired was gone. Citizens looked comfortable inside these walls, grateful even for the opportunity to be here.
Ya
ng came out to greet Lei. On his home grounds the man radiated peace, even joy, as though he reflected the sun itself.
Yang showed Lei around the grounds.
“I never thought I would see the day when the monasteries would welcome so many with open arms,” Lei admitted.
Yang sensed the discontent under his words. “The change is hard for many. I lost quite a few monks in the first years. They transferred to more traditional monasteries.”
“Hard changes, but I think necessary.”
“I agree. What you see is just the beginning, though. I know why you really came.”
Yang led Lei into the training hall, where a group of students hastily gathered, no doubt in response to Lei’s arrival. They all stood in a straight line. “Allow me to introduce my personal students.”
The woman on Lei’s far left appeared to be the oldest of the group, but here that distinction meant little. She was in her mid-twenties at most. “This is Shu. She is the oldest and the first that I found,” Yang said.
Lei could sense the woman’s gift. She was strong, but not unreasonably so. Yang, as he so often did, understood the direction of Lei’s thoughts. “Her powers are mostly in line with traditional monastic abilities. However, she can sense the gift over vast distances. She was the one who let us know you had arrived in Kulat.”
That answered one of Lei’s nagging questions.
Yang continued down the line. “You’ve already met Rong. She and several others here have abilities similar to Bai’s. Of them, Rong’s is the most developed. She’s the strongest fighter of the group.”
Lei didn’t have to work hard to imagine that. He’d trained Bai and seen firsthand how dangerous she’d been with only weeks of training. Now he almost feared to imagine what she might be capable of. Rong walked in the master’s footsteps.
“You’ve met Wu, too.” The eager young man bowed deeply.
Lei stopped in front of him. He could barely sense the student. “What can you do?”
Wu gave Yang a questioning glance. Yang nodded.