by Ryan Kirk
As the seasons changed Moriko’s attitude began to change, so subtly she didn’t notice the change at first. When she had first arrived Tomotsu talked daily of escape, but as the seasons passed the talk became less frequent as he became more involved in his training. Moriko would sometimes try to remind him of his former passion, but it was a risky proposition. She worried she was losing her one confidant inside the monastery walls. As Tomotsu grew older and more comfortable in his life his desire for change and freedom diminished. He grew stronger and more powerful, more attached to the life and privilege of a monk. Moriko took small comfort in knowing at least he didn’t report her to the Abbot or to the monks.
She found that despite his cooling passions, she still adored him. It was unrequited, and a part of her understood and was fine with it. He was nice to her and he made her laugh, and in a place where her surroundings never changed it was a priceless gift. He was the older brother she had always wanted, one who cared and listened and tried to help.
The part of the day Moriko enjoyed most was combat training. On her first day she discovered she had a natural aptitude for it. Perseverance had its own combat training system that was a derivative of a style designed for monasteries throughout the Three Kingdoms. The style emphasized circular movements in both attack and defense and Moriko found the movements very natural.
It wasn’t long before Moriko was top of the class in combat training even though she was the youngest and the newest initiate. The pleasure she derived from throwing the larger boys around the practice yard was intense and often made up for the monotony of the rest of the day.
Chores were dirty, repetitive and soul-crushing, and training in the sense meant time in meditation which Moriko struggled with. She loved to be active and to move. The prolonged sitting was torturous and she could only sometimes create the results the monks were expecting of her. Ironically, she thought, the sense did not make any sense to her. Sometimes she believed she could feel others around her, and she could always tell when the Abbot was around, but the monks told her stories of abilities that made her doubt her own experiences. There was always a glimmer of hope in her heart. Perhaps she wasn’t meant to be a monk after all.
The worst part of her life was Goro, the monk who had taken her from her family. She didn’t have any strong feelings about any of the other monks. They were all nice enough when she behaved and stern enough when she didn’t. But ever since she had come to the monastery Goro had taken a unique interest in her. He was the only monk who didn’t teach. All the classes were taught in rotation by the monks depending on who was available and who was most competent in the area being taught. But despite Goro not being a teacher, he always seemed to be in Moriko’s space, looking over her shoulder.
During chores he would stand behind her, ordering her to repeat whatever task she had just completed. During combat training he would often sneak up behind her and use a pole to knock her off-balance just in time for her to be unable to deflect an incoming strike or throw. Even during sense training he would walk by with his switch and strike her, telling her to focus, regardless of her state of concentration.
She asked Tomotsu about it one time and he told her she was imagining him as an enemy because Goro was the one who brought her in. Life in the monastery was tough for everyone, and he implied she shouldn’t be complaining when all the other students were undergoing similar punishments. Moriko tried to convince him this was unique, more focused than anything the other students were experiencing, but Tomotsu didn’t believe her and told her she’d have to be stronger.
Through everything, Moriko managed to control herself and not act out. She tolerated his pokes and jabs until one afternoon of combat training when Goro poked her with his staff just in time for her to take a fist to the face from one of the oldest and strongest boys. She wasn’t sure why, maybe it was the look of satisfaction on the older boy’s face, but Moriko was furious and swore she would never let Goro sneak up on her again.
Their training continued and Moriko tried to split her attention between Goro, who circled the perimeter of the practice area, and pay attention to her opponent. She realized in short order she wouldn’t be able to keep track of both, and with the more immediate threat being an older boy trying to redeem his pride from an earlier defeat, she was forced to pay more attention to the attacker right in front of her.
When it happened it came without warning or conscious effort. Moriko felt the end of Goro’s staff coming towards her lower back. The world seemed to slow down and everything became clear to her. Without looking she knew where the staff was and where it was going to be. She took in the whole situation in less than the space of a breath. The pole was behind her, creeping with frustrating accuracy towards the base of her spine. In front of her the older boy had seen an opportunity and was lunging forward, off balance with the whole weight of his body behind his right fist. He had seen the opening and was committing everything to redeeming himself by crushing this small girl.
Her response felt natural, the extension of all her training in combat. She pivoted, using her left hand to guide the pole and direct it down and to the side. At the same time she caught her partner’s wrist in her right hand and brought her center of gravity down, throwing him as though she was tossing a sack of vegetables onto the ground. As soon as she let him fly, she reversed her pivot, gripped the pole with both hands and shoved it back towards Goro, who was also off-balance and unprepared for a counterattack. With a little twist, Moriko was able to direct the other end of the pole straight into Goro’s throat.
The strike hadn’t been too strong, but the surprise and the strike were enough to drop Goro to the ground, clutching his throat and struggling for air. The effect wouldn’t have been greater if Lord Akira himself had materialized in the center of the practice ground, everyone stopping their sparring to stare open-mouthed at the sight before them. Monks demonstrated techniques and supervised sparring. None of the initiates had seen the monks fight in real combat, but they were very good, and they trained by themselves, sometimes allowing the initiates to watch in amazement. None of the initiates would have guessed that any one of them could take out a full-fledged monk. But the evidence was right in front of them.
Moriko was flooded by a quick succession of conflicting thoughts. Her first reaction was to smile, which made her realize this was probably the first time she had smiled since arriving at the monastery. Whatever the reason, it felt wonderful to have taken Goro down. She wondered about herself. Being happy to have committed violence against another. She used to feel so bad anytime she had hurt anyone.
Goro was standing up, catching his breath in fits and starts. Anger swirled around him like a dust storm, but Moriko did not see him. She saw nothing in her excitement. She felt as if she were born to fight. It fulfilled her. The power inside of her was fantastic.
Moriko didn’t notice when Goro motioned to two other monks who moved to Moriko’s side and grabbed her arms. She followed them, unresisting, as her mind struggled to deal with the implications of her thoughts. If she beat Goro with so little problem perhaps she could leave the Monastery. Perhaps no one could stop her, no one could hold her back. Her soul burned like wildfire through dry prairie, consuming all logic.
A sharp jab in her back brought her mind back to her current situation. Each monk had a firm grip on one of her wrists. They were almost picking her up, moving quickly, not letting her get any firm contact with the ground. There was nothing she could do. She began to think her situation wasn’t as positive as she thought it had been. Her hope began vanished like a ghost with the coming of the morning light. She glanced around, searching for exit, escape, or relief, but none was to be found. The Abbot’s building loomed larger and larger and Moriko could sense he already knew what had happened.
When they got her in front of the Abbot the two monks forced her to the ground, her forehead slamming against the hard stone, each of her arms in a severe joint lock that made her want to scream in pain wit
h every slight movement. She couldn’t see the Abbot, but she sure could feel him. But she doubted her sense for the first time since learning about it. The Abbot didn’t seem angry so much as curious. She could feel him extend his power toward her, focusing it on her. It felt like her skin was being torn off, burned by the power of an exploding sun, exposing everything underneath. The monks holding her relaxed their grip as they were overpowered by the Abbot’s focus on her. Moriko tried to move, but her body wasn’t responding to her commands.
Moriko went inside herself, focusing on her own body and doing everything in her power to ignore the incredible energies being brought to bear upon her. She could hear her captors wheezing in pain from just being too close to the object of the Abbot’s undivided attention. Whatever she did had some effect, because the Abbot relaxed his focus, unable to find whatever he had been looking for. Moriko moved to escape, but the monks had recovered faster and had renewed their joint locks on her arms. There wasn’t any hope.
Goro spoke without permission, “Abbot, this girl just attacked . . .”
He was cut off by an abrupt motion by the Abbot. “Shut up, Goro. I know what happened.”
Goro obliged, quivering in his own fear. He was a pathetic piece of trash.
The Abbot spoke again, “How did you do this?”
Moriko couldn’t resist being rude. It was her last layer of defense. “I only did what I’ve been taught in my classes.”
The Abbot smiled. “Unless my monks have made incredible progress without my knowledge, I think we both know that’s not true. Give me the truth, child.”
Moriko remained silent. She didn’t know how she had pulled off what she had done. It had come naturally to her. She wasn’t even sure how it was special.
The Abbot stared at her for several breaths before coming to a decision. “Goro, grab two staffs please.”
Goro, although confused, acquired them from a weapons rack near the side of the Abbot’s quarters. He brought them to the Abbot, who tossed one in front of Moriko. “Get up, girl.”
Moriko obeyed, rubbing her shoulders to return some feeling back to them after the monks let her go. She looked around for an exit, but they were well guarded.
The Abbot tossed the second staff to Goro. “Attack the girl.” The Abbot returned to his chair to watch the proceedings.
Moriko was slow to respond, still afraid of the Abbot’s wrath. She suspected she didn’t know everything that the Abbot was capable of. Goro had no such problems, the lap-dog always ready to do whatever his master commanded. He leapt forward and landed a crushing blow on Moriko’s shoulder, bringing her down to one knee.
The blow shocked her to her senses and her training took over. Goro never paused his attack, but she automatically deflected his next swing, which was slow and powerful. She flinched as their staffs cracked even on the deflection. Goro wasn’t trying to do anything complicated. He was too angry and embarrassed to do anything unexpected. He would attack straight on until she was down.
Goro paused his series of attacks to glance at the Abbot. Moriko glanced as well. The Abbot didn’t care about Goro. All of his attention was on Moriko.
Goro took this as permission to give Moriko his full attention. He stepped back and spun his staff around in a complicated pattern. Moriko was reminded of the fact that he was older and much better trained than she was. She knew better than to fight the monks. They were so fast and so strong. It was nothing but pride which told her she had a chance.
Goro moved forward, his first steps so fast Moriko almost didn’t realize what was happening. His staff blurred in her vision.
Without warning the feeling of moving in slow motion returned and Moriko clearly saw the pattern Goro was tracing with his staff. She knew he was going to try to use a big swing to knock her off balance and then come in with another big swing to knock her out or kill her. She didn’t give him the chance. His moves were quick, but she knew his move, and knew the precise spot she needed to strike. She didn’t hesitate, a quick jab with the end of her staff inside his guard.
Goro didn’t react to her movement, not even making the slightest attempt to block. She struck him in his stomach and he collapsed into himself.
Faster than it began, it was over. The monks appeared to be in a state of shock, but the Abbot’s gaze had never faltered. He was still acting like a curious child. The Abbot stood up, went over to Goro, and picked up the fallen staff. He spoke to Moriko as he approached. His voice was so soft Moriko wondered if anyone else could hear what he said.
“Goro was a fool. Fool someone once, shame on you. Fool someone twice, shame on them. He should have known what we were dealing with.”
Moriko didn’t understand. What were they dealing with? What seemed so serious?
The Abbot turned on Moriko with the staff and he was even faster than Goro. Moriko had been paying attention though and was able to move just fast enough to block most of his strikes. She chose, taking the hits that seemed like they wouldn’t be too bad while blocking and deflecting those that would have been more damaging. She felt him focus his energy and felt it wash over her as she moved through it. She began to hope that she had a chance of escape. Perhaps she was the strongest!
Her hope was fleeting. Not even sure how, she found herself the focus of all the Abbot’s energy and attention, and it forced her backwards one step at a time. It was like standing too close to a fire, a fire that was focused only on burning her. Her sense was blinded, and she began to take too many strikes. Every hit knocked her a bit more off balance, and before long it was over, a jab to the stomach similar to the one that had taken Goro out of commission.
The world wavered in front of Moriko. She was hurt and exhausted, her mind and body spent. The Abbot looked at her one last time, shook his head, and brought his staff around, striking her across the head and causing her world to go completely black.
Moriko was surprised when she awoke. She had half-expected in the last moment of consciousness to never wake up again. On her next breath, she started to wish she hadn’t woken up again.
Her head felt like it had been cracked open and her mind was leaking out. She tried to bring her hands to her head to feel the damage, only to realize she was tightly bound to the monastery wall. Her arms were stretched out to each side and tied to anchors in the wall. Moriko had always wondered why those anchors had been there. She tried to move her arms, but there was no give at all. She was bound facing the wall, so her backside was facing the courtyard. Fear entered her heart, pushing away the blackness at the edges of her pain-filled vision.
Moriko turned her head to look around and immediately a wave of pain and nausea washed over her. Her legs gave out, but she only fell the tiniest distance. Her arms stretched out searing in pain, unwilling to take the strain of all her weight. She put her feet down and tried to stand. It was a small improvement.
As her mind caught up with her surroundings, Moriko felt the fear gnawing its way through her stomach. She had beaten Goro, not once, but twice. The Abbot had defeated her without a problem. What was the punishment for fighting with the Abbot? Why did everyone seem to be scared of what she had done? She thought backwards. The pieces started to connect. She had used the sense in combat.
Nightblade.
The words cut through the fog in her mind. It wasn’t supposed to be possible. The monks were trained to use the sense, but not with combat. It didn’t work. The sense was used for information gathering and activities that were slow and methodical. The ability to fight while using the sense was punishable by death. There weren’t any nightblades any more, and for good reason. They had destroyed the Kingdom. She deserved to die.
A monk training nearby noticed she was awake and ran to ring a gong outside of the Abbot’s quarters. It was only struck on important occasions, usually holidays or funerals. Moriko wondered if it was ringing for her own funeral. There was a bustle of activity, and soon Moriko sensed almost every monk in the complex was standing to attention behind her.
She felt like she should be self-conscious with everyone standing behind her. But she could only focus on the pain and the fear.
She sensed the Abbot behind her. She took a deep breath and tried not to be scared. It was easier than she expected. At the end of all things she found she just didn’t care. Not happy or sad, she missed her old woods, the feel of the trees and the tranquility of solitude. She was thinking about the giant trees when the Abbot approached and ripped the robes off the top of her body.
Moriko instinctively tried to cover herself with her arms, forgetting for a moment she was immobile. But once the shock passed away she didn’t care about her nudity either. She was facing the wall anyway. There wasn’t much for anyone to see. She sensed the whip coming at her bare back, but didn’t have enough time to tense.
The pain was surprising even though she knew it was coming. The whip felt like a small line of fire burning its way across her skin. The fire did not ease with time, but intensified as it was joined by more lashings. Soon it felt like her entire back was burning, red hot lines of flame everywhere. Every breath, movement and thought seemed to drag out as the pain ravaged her mind and body. She had never experienced anything of the sort. She came to the point where she almost welcomed the lashes as they gave her a single point of pain to focus on.
She had planned on being defiant but the pain was too much. She collapsed, screaming and crying as the Abbot went to work with the whip. She hoped it would bring some relief, but every breath she took to cry burned across her body. She wanted to die, wanted the pain to end. Why wouldn’t he just kill her?