by James T Wood
The chief disciple looked at his master and then to the crowd. Neither offered an answer to his questions.
Eytskaim looked again at his friend and disciple and said, “Brother Talib, never cease in your seeking and you will inevitably find the way.”
With that the aged king slowly walked to the ancient hut beside the lake and went inside. His disciples did not want to disturb his meditation, so for a week no one dared to enter. But soon the smell of decay alerted them to his death.
Eytskaim was no more.
“An infant sings unknowingly; we train them to stop.” Vitus of Baile
P
eek woke with a start, sputtering about chores that needed to be done.
“Calmness, young sir, you’ve no chores before you now.” The woman before him had one hand on his shoulder and a gentle smile raining down on him. She had the ageless look of the aged with deep lines around her mouth and eyes that gave the appearance of perpetual smiling. Peek found joy in her round, open face and sat up on the pallet where he’d fallen asleep. As he rubbed his eyes he wondered if he would ever cease waking to fear. The habit was as old as he could remember.
“I’m Duhlga, by the way,” she said offering a surprisingly large hand to help Peek rise.
“Pleased to meet you, Duhlga. I’m sorry to be in the way. I was just—”
“No need to apologize young sir. You were not in my way. I was concerned about you, especially after your first day of training.” Her green eyes were flecked with brown radiating out from the center and held a joyful wisdom. “How did you fare at the training?”
Peek didn’t know if Duhlga had heard the story or not; he hesitated for a moment then told her everything. Including Vlek’s threats and coercion. When it was said, Peek felt as if he’d vomited up all the bad food that had been making him ill. The telling of the story was distasteful to Peek, but at the same time it was cleansing to be free of its burden.
Duhlga laughed a deep, hearty, redeeming laugh, “You tell me this as if you should be ashamed, young sir, but I see nothing shameful in your deeds. You simply did what was asked of you. You are good, honest, and caring, all the qualities that make a great monk.”
Peek turned over her words and looked for the edges. Where was the slight? Where was the rebuke?
“Worry not, young sir, worry not. For, regardless of how you fared yesterday, today will begin anew.”
“I… I don’t know if that’s what I want,” Peek finally admitted. He was tempted to lie, but remembered the prohibition against falsehood.
“Aye, ‘tis much too early for that kind of talk, young sir,” Duhlga laughed again, “First attempt the training, strive to hear The Melody. You cannot reject that which you don’t know. One thing at a time, now.”
“I…” Peek started, but ran out of words. He looked into her eyes and saw compassion, wisdom, and conviction radiating toward him.
“Ah, but here comes your trainer, young sir. Heed him well. Though he’s young and, at times impertinent, he is wise and well called to his task.”
Peek looked up at Duhlga’s words and saw, through the turned-back flap of the hut, Rudi hairy and huge, lumbering toward him. Normally Peek could see what people were feeling, at least in general, but the voluminous beard that enveloped Rudi’s face and most of his chest hid almost every sign of expression except for his bright eyes shining out from a pit of brow and beard.
“You ready for your training, young sir?” Rudi stated more than asked.
“Yes, sir,” Peek decided to try respect.
“Pshaw, you’ll never be ready, will you?” Peek wasn’t sure if he should answer the question but was saved when Rudi went on, “This training is for potential brothers and sisters, my potential brothers and sisters. Do you think that somehow you’re worthy to be among that vaunted group of souls? You, because you paddled your little skiff across the sea and accidentally killed some raiders? We should honor you? I say you get honor when you earn honor, not for some accident of navigation, but for the hard work you do. But what would you know of hard work? Well, come on then. We haven’t got the day to spare.”
Peek had to hurry to keep up with him since he started walking briskly away as he spoke the last words. Rudi led him away from the village and to the south. They walked along the beach for a time and then climbed up the rocky border to a barely perceptible path. Peek had lived in the village his whole life and never seen this path. Rudi followed it without a word or glance back over his shoulder to see if Peek still trailed behind.
Soon they stepped between trees and the path all but disappeared with the lack of underbrush. Rudi walked on confidently; Peek scanned for any landmark or clue to where they were. They hiked through the trees, over small streams, through muddy, shoe-sucking pits, through gnarled roots, and still the phantom path continued. Peek considered just going back with the hope that he would be able to find his way when they broke out of the tree line and came to the edge of the water. All he could see before him was unbroken water touching the cloud-dotted sky. The breeze was just too cool to be comfortable in the morning sun and Peek fought down a shiver.
Rudi stopped and looked out over the water. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, which he held for quite some time before letting it out. When he did it a second time, Peek mimicked his actions. They stood, breathing and facing the ocean for several minutes, the crash of the waves, the call of the gulls and the whisper of the wind merged into a rhythm with their breathing.
“Do you hear it?” Rudi barely moved his lips as he spoke. Peek opened his eyes and turned to look at him.
“Do I hear what?” Peek responded in full voice.
“AGAIN!” Rudi shouted. He rolled his shoulders, resettled his feet and started breathing once more. Peek matched his stance.
Peek feared to listen in the way he had when he paddled to the island and again when the raiders attacked. That kind of listening brought death. There must be something different that Rudi asked of him. Peek was quickly able to sort out Rudi’s deep breathing. He willed his ears to scour the world for any other sound. He thought he could hear the bleating of sheep in the distance over his left shoulder. Far down below him he heard the barking of a sea lion, barely audible over the crashing water.
This time when Rudi asked, “Do you hear it?” Peek didn’t move.
He whispered in reply, “I hear the sheep in the pasture and the sea lion on the shore. I hear the birds and the waves.”
“No, then. You are deaf as a stone,” Rudi sounded disgusted.
Peek’s frustration grew as the man next to him stood still and immovable, “I heard all those things, what more was there?”
“Everything.”
Peek recalled the ‘lesson’ of the previous day and knew the words he must speak, “Please…” he stopped to clear his throat, “please, help me.”
The smile that broke over Rudi’s face was a warm fire on a cold night. “Of course I’ll help you, young sir. I’m delighted that you remembered to ask,” Rudi turned to face him, gave him a wink to go with the smile, and then sat down on the heather and grass. He motioned for Peek to do the same and when they were both settled, Rudi began.
“The Melody is always present, but we are not always able to hear it,” while he spoke he gesticulated with enthusiasm, “It’s not a failing in the Melody, but a failing in us when the song doesn’t come through.” He paused and stared out to sea for a long moment. “It’s odd that we use all of this ‘hearing’ language to describe what’s going on. We don’t actually use our ears to hear the Melody.
“We’re filled with the Melody, we’re surrounded by it and we join with it. The Melody is, without a doubt, notes and rhythm, but they do not sound out like our pipes or drums. The Melody is silent music, quiet sound. It just comes to us,” his voice fell to a whisper that barely competed with the cool breeze, “We cannot hear it when our minds are noisy. We cannot perceive it when our hearts are filled. We seek quietness and emptiness so that w
e can hear the tune of ages.
“While you strove to hear sheep, I was transported by the soaring, dulcet tones of The Melody. I heard the final notes of the Morning Song which always accompanies the rising of the sun,” Rudi leaned back and spread his arms wide to encompass the world, “We have been hearing The Melody for so long now, that we know the different tunes and we know what they correspond to in the world. For, make no mistake, this world is all here at the will of The Melody. Each note is a breath of life in our lungs and without it we would fall dead without knowing.
“Generations ago our brotherhood searched the world to find the best listening places. At some locations we could barely detect a muffled whisper. Other places we heard The Melody swell to a mighty crescendo. That island,” Peek followed his finger to look at the island on the horizon, just emerging from the morning mist, “was one of the best listening-places we could find in all our journeys. The noise of the world was faint and the songs of The Melody powerful there. Apart from the island, this cliff is the best listening place to be found for miles.
“I’m amazed that you can’t hear what is so plain to me, but then I must remember my first days on the island. My ears were packed with wool and my mind muffled. It takes time for all of the world to uncoil itself from our spirits before we can become entangled in The Melody. For today, we will learn to breathe, young sir, and that will be enough.”
Peek paused before speaking, he didn’t want to appear foolish or pert, so as he spoke it was tentative and halting, “But – but Rudi, don’t I, uh, don’t I already know how to breathe?”
This prompted a hearty laugh from the thick man. He had to wipe the spittle from his beard and the tears from his eyes when his chuckles finally died down. “Young sir, you are the first of my many students to ever say such a thing.” Peek blushed, feeling that he was the butt of a joke he didn’t understand.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, young sir, no. Don’t apologize. You are quite right; you can already draw air into your lungs and exhale it again. Yet breath has a rhythm that you don’t yet understand. That is the truth you need to learn. The simple, physical act of inhaling and exhaling is born into you. You cannot help but breathe, but what I will teach you is to align your breath with your spirit.
“What do you notice about this tune?” Rudi played a short song for Peek on a set of pipes that appeared from his robe.
“It’s an old lullaby, my mother used to sing it to me when I was young and had trouble sleeping.” One of the few good memories Peek had of his childhood.
“Well done. Now, what of this song?” He raised the five-chambered pipes again, but this time he held some notes longer and cut other notes short; he inserted awkward pauses into the middle of the line where they didn’t belong.
“That was all wrong. It was the same, but different,” Peek declared.
“Tell me, young sir, what changed?” Rudi probed.
Peek thought for a moment, turning the song over in his head, “Well, the notes were all the same.”
“Yes, and…”
“And, um, the order was the same too.”
“Ah, and…”
“And, the, uh, the difference was in the… the rhythm.” Peek said it as more of a question than a statement.
“So, young sir, you think that by only changing the rhythm of a simple song, I can alter it so drastically that it is no longer the same as it was before? Is that your conclusion?”
“I guess,” Peek caught the warning look from Rudi before he had quite finished and so added more emphatically, “Yes, I’m sure.”
Rudi smiled tolerantly, “And that is why we will learn to breathe today.” His silence stretched out long enough that Peek became uncomfortable. Was he looking for a response? Peek groped around for the meaning of the example and any sort of application to the task of breathing.
“Does the rhythm of our breathing affect us the same way that the rhythm affected the song?”
“Brilliant, young sir, well done,” Rudi grinned broadly, “We must learn to breathe so that our rhythm aligns with the truth of The Melody.
“But enough of that, for now, just breathe,” Rudi took a deep breath, “Sit so your spine is straight, that’s good. Drop your shoulders, not so tense. Roll your shoulders back. Good. Point your head straight. Center your skull on your spine. Excellent.” As Rudi said it, Peek attempted to mimic the words as best he could.
“Now, raise your chest, no don’t move anything else, just lift your ribcage. Right, that’s it. Now, slowly breathe in through your nose. Deeply, fill your lungs. Count, two, three, four.” Peek was unused to having his lungs so full and his body felt awkward, so when Rudi said, “Exhale. . .” the air exploded out of Peek’s mouth, “. . . slowly from your mouth,” Rudi finished with a grin.
“Again, shoulders back, chest up, breathe in. Good. Hold, two, three, four. Now, out, two, three, four.” This time, Peek was able to control his exhalation. “Again. In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.” Rudi rose and walked around Peek as he was saying these words. Peek tried to not watch him, but couldn’t help it, his eyes followed Rudi’s path as far as they could to the right without moving his head and then picked up the trail on the left.
Rudi chuckled, “Try closing your eyes, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four, and out, two, three, four. Let this rhythm sink into your heart and become the rhythm of your life, and out, two, three, four. Center yourself in your mind. Imagine all of the thoughts falling away as you breathe out, two, three, four. In, two, three, four, the breath comes in and brings life, renewal and hope. It revitalizes your body. Your spirit is connected so that when you hold, two, three, four, it joins with the rhythm of your body.
“I assume that you haven’t studied many languages, young sir.” Peek started to answer, but Rudi cut him off, “Breathe, two, three, four. Keep breathing and just hear my words. Don’t respond, just let them flow over you, and out, two, three, four.” Peek held on to the rhythm, repeated the mantra in his head and kept breathing. He felt stiff and awkward. His body was beginning to complain about his posture and his mind was beginning to tire of the constant concentration.
“How would you have time to study language, though, in a small village as a servant-child. No matter. Did you know that the word for breath is the same as the word for spirit in many of the world’s languages? It’s not an accident. Our breath is inextricably tied to our spirit and breathing ties us to the great spirit, The Melody. You take in breath, but at the same time, you are taking in life and being. You hold, two, three, four,” Rudi broke in perfectly synced with the mantra in Peek’s head, “as a way of cementing the spirit within you to that of The Melody. For that one moment when the breath is filling your lungs, you are complete, filled. That moment between inhaling and exhaling is the closest we will get to paradise on this side of death.” Peek could hear the smile creep into Rudi’s voice as he continued, “And we squander that moment, every day we are blessed with glimpses of paradise, but we ignore them because we’re too busy, too worried, too far removed to sense what is within us.
“Your task for today, young sir, involves no buckets and no fires. Today, you are to breathe and out, two, three, four. Center yourself, learn the rhythm of your spirit and take the first step to hearing The Melody of the world.” Rudi’s voice grew fainter as he spoke, so Peek instinctively turned and looked to see where he was going. “Eyes closed!” he snapped, “In, two, three, four. I will return when your task is done and out, two, three, four.”
Peek clutched on to the rhythm of the breathing, hoping it would remove the sounds of the world around him. He was even less sure at this moment that he wanted to continue training as a monk. Rudi’s words were not simply odd, but nigh unto madness. Would Peek trade the abuse of his body for the loss of his mind? If he became a monk would he sink into madness as had Rudi? They claimed to hear an unhearable song tha
t they played on their instruments. That they could do magic was not up for question, but that the source of the magic was something that only a few could hear and replicate, seemed silly if not insane.
A hundred times Peek wanted to get up, walk back to the clearing that would become a new monastery, and admit his defeat. He wanted to be done with sitting over the ocean in the cool, late summer air, and trying to breath himself into madness. But each time he started to move, he thought back to the Markay attack on the island. Magic was real — a few days ago he hadn’t believed that. And Peek could do wonderful, dangerous things. He could do magic. But he had no idea how he did it or how to control it. If nothing else, the monks showed that they could control the magic, even if they made up stories to explain how they did it. If he had to listen to stories to learn how to control the magic, so be it.
Peek breathed and fought to let go of the thoughts whirling around in his mind.
Twelve
The entire kingdom mourned for thirty days. Since the wise and powerful king Eytskaim had taken no wife and fathered no children the throne remained empty. His disciples tried to appoint their chief as the next king, but he refused saying that one who had not unlocked the mystery of Eytskaim’s wisdom and power could not sit on his throne.
It was soon known throughout the land that the king’s throne would remain vacant until one with his wisdom and power could come. Some lamented that so great a wisdom was gone. Others plotted to seize what power they could from the remains of the kingdom. Most continued with life and clung to hope that the successor of the king would come soon.
“Quash stray notes in your mind. Think only on The Melody lest you fall.” Lorin of Uagla
A
s Peek breathed, his thoughts floated, ghosted back through his life. He touched the tragedy on the island and his escape before that, but quickly moved on. He went further back, letting his thoughts find those moments of paradise that Rudi had mentioned. He thought of his home — Vlek did not merit consideration — of Cor and Rea.