The Oak
With the coming of each new day, I felt much better. I ate breakfast with Merlin and the Sea Lass and watched him dress warmly for his work upon the land. I continued to stay with his daughter and help her within the house. With Merlin gone, her home routine was patiently attended until at last we were free to tend to the outside duties. With the closing of the large wooden door, the sun and breeze welcomed us into the open.
She smiled proudly when she saw me crouched and watching the nest of ants along our path. “What is the forecast?” she inquired, and nodded her approval when I answered, “Sunny and bright here, distant storm moving closer.” Together we filled two wicker baskets with mulberry leaves and carried them to a shed some distance from the main house.
I was not prepared for the sight that greeted me as she lit the shed lamps and emptied the leaves into round woven lids. I saw the pulsing of the worms, they looked like the maggots that feed upon the dead, and I recoiled in horror. Her laughter calmed me, and she quickly said, “Don’t worry, Vincent, these worms work for us.”
The sound of a heavy summer downpour somehow filled the room. I forced myself to look once more to the lids and she continued, “Listen to them eat, when they are full and ripe, they will spin themselves a sleeping place with threads of splendor, comfort, and protection. I will boil them, unwind them, and color them, and from these I will make you the clothing of kings.” I knew that for the Sea Lass even this wondrous intention held no trace of witchcraft or magic, but was quite ordinary within this world. But for me, it was still bound by the threads of mystery.
My repulsion faded as we closed the door behind us and walked on across the vast and open beauty of the land. We followed the river, where she stopped to peer quietly into the clear calm pools along its edge. Her hands darted in scooping out a speckled fish that now thrashed upon the dry land. A few more steps brought another, and then a third, cleaned and deftly tied with reeds through gills and handed to me for carrying.
Eventually we approached a large tree that stood majestic and alone in an open field, and we made our way in its direction. It towered against the clear blue sky and pulled at me steadily. I turned to the Sea Lass and heard my own voice rich with excitement, “I know this tree,” I exclaimed, and sprinted toward it.
With eyes closed I pressed my body against its dry rough bark and embraced it like a long lost friend. I deeply inhaled its spring musk and, in turn, it took me back in memory to the land of my people. I backed away with head cranked up looking at its great height, still leafless, adorned only by the green brown buds getting ready to burst forth. A raven flew down from the highest boughs, and Sea Lass lovingly fed it scraps from yesterday’s evening meal.
“To my people this tree is both guardian and gateway,” I told her, as the large black bird raised its beak and dropped another morsel down its gullet. I should not have been surprised that its leather cupped seeds had reached as far as this distant land. “In my language it is called oak.” My refreshed memories had loosened my tongue, and I told her of the Norse Landers whose people also held the great oaks sacred.
Sea Lass listened to my words like a child in school, “Their warrior god was named Thor. During a great storm Thor sought shelter beneath a huge oak tree, and it was here that he was made immortal. He was given the power of lightning and thunder, a power he took into battle as he wielded his massive steel war hammer.” Spellbound she stopped feeding the greedy bird that bounced happily beside her.
Sea Lass pointed to the tree, concentrated, and said, “ark.” “Oak,” I responded, “ark,” she repeated. Over and over, although in fact her pronunciation improved very little, I smiled and nodded to reassure her. Making a hammering motion she questioned, “Thar?” “Thor,” I corrected. This word’s lesson went on much the same way, but for considerably more time and with much the same result. “Thar,” she mimicked.
As a teacher I accepted my limitations and was content that I had tried my best. I did not care that her pronunciation was stilted, and I rested in the pleasure that she had tried so hard to wrap her tongue around the words of my world.
Suddenly a sound that seemed from another world pierced the quietness. Clearly and loudly, through the heavy black beak of the contented raven came the eerie and unearthly squawk, “Arkthar.”
I was shocked by a bird that speaks, and Sea Lass laughed loudly at her pet’s contribution to her language lesson. We both turned quickly as Merlin’s voice rang out from behind us, “He thinks to name you Arkthar.” The monk saw the bright colors of the fish, and chuckled to himself at the appropriate meal choice.
In the midday shadow of the great oak tree, we cooked and ate fish and rice cakes, so delicious that I licked the last flavors from my greasy fingers. After lunch Merlin stood directly from his cross-legged position. “So the god of your enemies is the lightning bearer,” he said. “Like you, he has transformed with time and distance. From north to south and from east to west, the wielder of lightning has known many incarnations.
We owe much to a foreign monk that brought us his ways of combat and religion. When the time is right, I will show you form and symbol, and you will study the meditation and movement of the fist he called vajra.”
Much of what the monk had spoken had no meaning for me. Graciously Mah Lin did not press it but let me digest peacefully until at last he spoke again. “Vincent, your wounds are many, some to your flesh and some to your spirit.” We three walked farther along the river until we came to a high waterfall, where following Merlin’s bidding and example I stripped to loincloth.
Together we stood in the flowing curtain of cold spring water, while the Sea Lass sat on the short new grass and watched. Merlin shouted to me above the river’s roar, “Let the blood of your past be washed from your soul.” He drew breath, “Let your new body grow strong.” In a short time I could take no more. Merlin, in contrast, looked comfortable as I stumbled from the rushing torrent. Sea Lass dried and warmed me by rubbing my rough clothing against my blue-white skin.
I looked back to the monk, who had vanished as though he had never been.
Sea Lass and I walked together back to our dwelling place. I did not talk about a monk that could evaporate like a mist. Instead I asked, “Do all the animals of this strange land have the power to speak?” To that she smiled and replied, “They do, but in their own language.” The sunshine of the afternoon had begun to be replaced by dark grey cloud cover. As we passed the great tree, a solitary lightning bolt flashed across the distant sky. The raven saw the far-off brightness from its high vantage. Looking up, it spread wing, and took flight.
Between heaven and earth it spoke for the sacred oak, to all the creatures of its great kingdom that could hear, as once again it looked down and screamed the name, “Arkthar.”
Water And Fish
As Sea Lass and I approached our home, I felt like one carried upon winds of magic. This was surely a place of wonder and beauty. It had once been an ancient temple, and kept from that time the mantle and energy of grounds long consecrated. It held the harmonious power of great tranquility. From communal worship, its robe of peace had descended to envelop even us few who now lived under its protective roof. Its power had even given voice to the croak of the black feathered bird, and I wondered what other wonders it would share with me.
We made ready to enter by the pond near the massive wooden door, and as if responding to my inner thoughts, the fish rose up to churn the surface and seemed to speak. They wagged impatiently as the Sea Lass scooped some dried silkworm nymphs from a small stone grotto and cast them to the hungry mob. Heads and eyes stared from under the circular green pads and pushed into the open surfaces of the pool. The image of cloud and sky disappeared from its mirrored surface, broken now by the happy undulations of both fin and body.
I hunkered close to catch a glimpse and remembered her words, ‘In their own language.’ I closed my eyes in concentration and strained to hear their words. I wanted desperately to unde
rstand them, for their world of water was so different from my own. At first I heard nothing, but then it came, it was not a language of words at all, but the language of gentle laughter. I was astonished, but this broke as quickly as the image of cloud and sky had broken, and my eyes now opened saw that all the gentle laughter came not from the fish, but from the lass.
She was by my side once more and only by great effort regained her composure. She knew at once what I had been trying to do, and looked at me with kindness, impressed I hoped with the sincerity of my efforts. Into my hands she placed more nymphs and worms and bid me to cast as she herself had done. Although they still did not speak, they did seem to greatly appreciate this and as the last morsel disappeared so too did they. I looked to her with eyes that still questioned, and her response was simply, “Food is a language that all creatures understand.”
We lingered there a while, the clouds of the woad blue sky visible again on the flat quiet surface. The direction of our gaze was down, but our vision did not penetrate the tranquil depths. It was thrown upwards by the dark calm water, past where the black bird flew, and up higher into the heavens that cover and protect all. But my mind still lingered on the fish, and if they could speak, wondered what lessons they would teach.
The Sea Lass broke this reverie and seemed to speak to me for them. “In my language they are called Liyu,” she said. “I think in my world they are carp,” I replied, “although I had never seen them so beautifully colored and so well behaved.” We laughed as she said the word “carp,” her lips mimicking the mouths of the ravenous fish.
We entered our home, and the Sea Lass explained to me why these fish were fed instead of eaten. “For us the liyu are a symbol of many things,” she explained. “They are bound closely to the god of literature; they speak of endurance, perseverance, and courage.” She measured me with her look while her body moved comfortably in the final preparation of the evening meal, and she continued. “To monks like my father they symbolize the mind’s freedom from—” She stopped here unsure of the words, but gently touched the angry scars on both my wrists where the chains of iron had held them for so long. “They swim in all the directions of the compass, like the enlightened mind that has moved beyond any restraint and obstruction and is now truly and fully free.”
The Sea Lass lifted the lid from the cooking pot and discerningly inhaled its aroma. Glancing toward me she smiled and said, “They swim in pairs and so have also come to mean the union of great opposites and all its harmony and bliss.” I knew instantly by her smile, the nature of what she spoke, for sexual union is a constant in any world. My mind was pulled abruptly from these thoughts as Merlin’s voice sounded from behind me. As always, he moved so effortlessly that I heard nothing as he entered.
She smiled at my discomfort as she added more salt, and her father spoke to me. “These carp can jump over the rapids in the Yellow River leaving all others behind. Some believe the legend that if one manages to climb the falls of this great river they will be transformed into….” Here he stopped and searched for the word he needed. Looking to his daughter for help, they made motions of an enormous flying description, and both said the word “loong.”
I did not understand, and in truth I did not see how fish could grow huge and take wing, then I remembered a bird that could speak, and so said nothing.
The Tree Of Knowledge
I awoke to the now familiar sound of the rooster’s call and the clinking of breakfast bowls being set upon the table. Merlin and the Sea Lass were deeply engaged in conversation as I entered the room. Merlin was the first to speak as the Sea Lass graciously handed me my breakfast. “We will begin with the names,” he said, “Mah.”
“Mah,” I repeated. He continued, “It means horse.” “Horse,” I mindlessly repeated, and was met by the raucous laughter of father and daughter. Serious once more, “Lin,” he said, “Its meaning is forest.” “Lin,” I chimed back, not fully aware that I had a mouthful of rice porridge and fruit, which drew even more laughter from the pair. This was quickly silenced and replaced with looks of wide-eyed pride when I swallowed quickly and the sound “Mah Lin” came forth from inside me in the perfect tonal pronunciation of their dialect.
The Sea Lass was the next to speak. “My mother chose for me a name from the distant land and ancient language of the Hebrew people. She hoped it would make me comfortable with my family differences, as from birth I was one already set apart. It was her desire that I grow into the timeless strength, serenity, and endurance of my title; for the meaning of Selah is stone.”
Without thought the name “Selah” came from my lips as easily as my delicious morning breakfast had gone past them.
The monk and his daughter left the room and bid me to join them. I promptly followed the two into the library where the sword still lay upon the table of thick oak. Beside it now were sheets of mulberry paper made from the bark of the trees that feed the worms. Ink stick, stone, and brush sat nearby, and beside that, a long robe of shimmering blue. Selah offered me the robe, clearly on the behalf of both herself and Mah Lin. I was deeply moved as I put it on. It was perfectly tailored, and it cleared the ground just above my feet.
Mah Lin stood by as Selah checked her handiwork against my frame, and after a few small adjustments, she humbly said, “I have made you the robe of scholar, so now let us begin your journey.” I was almost without words, but spoke sincerely from my heart, “I have never worn so wondrous a garment.” I saw her eyes look toward her father and saw the blush come to her face.
I looked again at my new attire and wondered how she had decided to make it ‘warrior blue.’ Whispers of understanding pushed through the voice of my own superstitions. This cloth was made by the worms; a marvelous transformation guided not by witchcraft but by wisdom.
I knew the fears of my past were yielding to faith, as Selah, composed and serious, prepared the ink, grinding a black stick on a stone dish until she achieved the depth of color she desired. Watching her movements I felt myself being calmed into readiness. She dipped the brush into the black ink, and I watched like one under a spell as she painted the sound of ‘Mah.’ I could see the mane, the body, and the four legs come together with deft strokes. Then she showed me ‘Lin.’ I saw clearly the trunk, the ground, and the reaching of its three roots. Then she painted another, and the two trees stood side by side to capture the sound of forest. “Lin,” I breathed.
She handed the brush to me, and Mah Lin searched at my discomfort. I explained, “I have never written, nor can I read or write. The only instrument of communication I have ever held is a sword.” “Good,” said Mah Lin, “That is the perfect place at which to start, in truth, sword and brush are closely connected.” He gestured toward the brush in encouragement.
I held it straight between my fingers and dipped into the ink as she had done, and I looked nervously at the fresh white mulberry sheet. I calmed myself further and steadied the breath within my belly. I had seen the horses rutting wild in the meadows of my homeland. I let the blackened tip bring their sound to life as the character ‘Mah’ galloped freely from its bristled tip and onto page.
Mah Lin and Selah studied my first written word in silence. Mah Lin moved it aside and gestured towards the fresh new sheet. Like before I became quiet from the inside, went in mind to the woodlands, and then began to write the sound of ‘Lin.’ When this character was finished, Selah came to my side quickly and began to examine my work.
While she and her father spoke about my efforts in their tongue, a language that I was only beginning to know, I reached for the sword that seemed to speak my name. I peered closely at the pentagram on its hilt and saw the half word of my ink. “Yes,” Mah Lin said, “two together means forest, one apart means wood.”
Selah moved my fingertips around the star beginning with the symbol that I recognized. “Wood, fire, earth, metal, water,” she chanted softly, “these are the five elements.” The feel of her touch lingered long after her words had ceased, and I looke
d where she directed me. I saw in each the shape of sound, the concept captured by symbol. I studied each carefully and deeply, the upward dance of fire, the mountain and mines of ore, the fertile sprouting earth, and the turbulent movement of water, the root and trunk of wood, and they spoke to me in a way that I cannot explain, from a place I did not know.
I was aware once again of Selah and Mah Lin who were looking at me closely as I held the weapon. My mind followed my eyes to the library shelves. I could sense the wonder, knowledge, and mystery locked within these ancient documents, and I could almost hear them speak. I touched the hem of my sea blue robe and felt its shimmering texture between my fingertips while I heard the wisdom of ages call to my soul from the rock-hewn shelves.
I was drawn back from my reverie by the sound of Mah Lin and Selah as they tried earnestly to pronounce my name.
“Vin-cent?” they chanted in unison, and they spoke it like a question. I saw the sincerity of great effort in their eyes. In my life that had past I had never known family, companionship, or peace. Now I knew absolutely that I had found all three treasures, and my answer came from the core of my being.
“Arkthar,” sprang loudly from my soul and flew up beyond the library wall and sailed on dragon ships far past the dark bird that flew on high. “Arkthar,” I said again, “Its meaning in the language of the Celts… is Bear.”
Standing At Peace
Mah Lin and Selah seemed pleased with my desire to learn. I had always loved the spoken word, but life had not included the skills of reading or writing. Since a mere boy it had been a stark and sterile tale of survival; my reality was one of kill or is killed, and it left no room for the arts to flourish. Save perhaps the art of sword and the art of staying alive.
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