by Ryan Kirk
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.
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 were 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 in 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 anymore, 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 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?
A small part of her, the part attuned to combat, realized the Abbot was an expert in applying the whip. No strike landed in the same place. Sometimes he allowed the whip to curl around her torso, arms, or legs. The worst was when it lashed around and cut into the side of her breasts. That was a new and horrible sort of pain.
Moriko tried to focus, tried to find an inner sanctuary, someplace where she could shut out the pain. In between strikes she remembered the stories she had heard about monks who could withstand incredible pain without losing face. But the Abbot was a master at what he was doing and Moriko had no experience to draw on. He never gave her enough time between strikes to focus. They came one after the other and blurred together into one continuous experience of hell.
Time became endless, and she struggled to remember a time when her life wasn’t filled with pain and suffering. She had become so senseless she didn’t even realize her punishment had ended. There were no more lashes, just the unending torment of breath. A moment later her hearing returned to her, and she realized that the Abbot was speaking to the congregated monks.
“. . . violation of the rules of our order. Today I bring my sword, the ultimate symbol of the warriors which we are descended from. We are men and women with a sacred task, a task to protect the world we live in from all threats. If we are not united, the world itself falls. If we do not recognize the corruption, even within our own ranks, the Three Kingdoms will burn.”
The Abbot paused for effect. “We recognize in the sword the ultimate paradox. It is the protector of life, yet it brings death. Like the great warriors of old, we live in that paradox daily, struggling always to understand it. Today the sword decides the fate of the one who violated our precepts.”
Moriko’s sense returned to her just in time for her to sense the blade’s approach. Time slowed down, just as it had before, but there was nothing for her to do. No way to react. She was tied tightly and had no desire to live. She sensed it approach, unfeeling and uncaring. When it entered her, she couldn’t even distinguish it from the other levels of agony she was already suffering. But when she looked down and saw the point of the blade protruding from her torso, her blood sparkling in the evening sunlight, she couldn’t take anymore. For the second and final time that day, Moriko’s vision went black, and she went willingly into darkness’ cold, comforting embrace.
10
Ryuu was no longer a boy. Several cycles had passed, and it was clear to any observer he was now a young man. He was of average height, but his musculature set him apart from others. The young man was lean, the muscles of his arms, torso and legs clearly defined, with no vestiges of childhood fat left. He walked tall and without hurry, taking in the world around him. Shigeru could always feel the faint tendrils of Ryuu’s sense expanding throughout whatever environment they was in, and it made him proud. Ryuu’s sense would be almost undetectable to the monks.
Just as important to Shigeru were Ryuu’s eyes. They never rested but were always moving back and forth, bringing in information about his world. Many trainees, when they were young, relied on their sense too much. Shigeru knew there were ways to fool individual senses, but not all six. Shigeru often told Ryuu no one could sneak up on him and it was probably true. Ryuu paid attention to people when they spoke, focusing exclusively on them. When he did, his eyes would light up with the delight of conversation. It was obvious to all who encountered him he was focused on the present, always curious about everything around him. But what only Shigeru knew was that even though Ryuu’s eyes might be focused on one person, his sense tendrils spread out even farther. The boy was a marvel of awareness.
His swo
rdsmanship was also excellent. Even if he hadn’t been sense-gifted, Ryuu might have been one of the best in the Southern Kingdom. In conjunction with his sense, Shigeru suspected his student was one of the best warriors in the Three Kingdoms. And he had only seen fourteen cycles. His swordsmanship would improve as he gained more experience. The boy wasn’t anywhere close to his limits. There were warriors that could beat him, but all of them existed in a different life. Shigeru had a suspicion that in two or three cycles, if the boy’s path continued, he would be much stronger than his master. Their meeting had been incredible and Shigeru felt the subtle threads of the Great Cycle in everything the boy did. There was a convergence approaching, and Shigeru feared the consequences. They were not known as pleasant occasions.
Shigeru was apprehensive about the boy’s second resolution. He had sworn he would honor the proper training methods in the raising of the boy, but he had grown fond of the boy’s company. Shigeru had resigned himself long ago to a solitary, hunted life. He had never expected a son, and never one so unique. Ryuu was a cheerful, optimistic young man who balanced out Shigeru’s natural pessimism and cynicism. Shigeru knew what came next. It was, perhaps, the hardest of the choices a young nightblade made, but it was also the most necessary. It would be easy to justify another path, to say a new way would better. Some nights as Shigeru was relaxing in the evening with Ryuu, reading by the fire, he would think of all the ways it could be done differently.
But in the light of day Shigeru’s thinking was clearer. The training methods had the balance of history behind them. Shigeru himself hadn’t progressed far enough to understand the reasoning behind all the methods, but he never questioned the pure intent behind them. The old way was not the easy way, but it was true.
It was the dead of winter when Shigeru announced they would be going on a trip. Ryuu looked up at his master, grinning. “You mean we’re going to the village? I thought you were looking forward to not going back for a while.”
Shigeru shook his head. “No. Not to the village. It’s time for you to go to a city. Winter is the perfect time for it with many of the people inside because of the cold. We won’t be bothered and you can develop your sense there so you are prepared for using your abilities in crowded spaces.”
Ryuu felt his stomach tighten up at the mention of a city. His parents had died returning from a city in winter, and he hadn’t been back in the intervening nine cycles. Winter was bandit season in the region, picking off travelers struggling with the weather. He didn’t want to go. “I already know how to handle the sense in a crowd of people. We’ve been to the village, and it has almost one hundred people.”
“Yes, and the fact you can allow your sense to spread as far as you do in the village is an impressive feat. But you need to find your limits. In New Haven there are tens of thousands of people and you’ll need to control your sense so the information doesn’t overwhelm your mind or distract you from your more immediate surroundings.”
“Why can’t we go in spring and blend in with the tourist crowd? That would be better practice.”
Shigeru’s look changed, and Ryuu could tell he had finally figured out Ryuu’s reluctance.
“You’ll be fine. We’re going together and we’ll stay together. Anyhow, you have a sword now and are more than capable of protecting yourself from any danger. Face your fear and you will discover it has no hold over you anymore.”
Ryuu nodded. Facing his fears sounded like an excellent plan, but his mind and body disagreed. His sleep was restless and his nightmares came back. He dreamed of blood, of the face of his mother, blurred with time. Even unclear her face still haunted him. He hadn’t had the dreams for cycles, and the memories made him sullen in the mornings leading up to their trip.
Shigeru noticed his attitude but pretended to ignore it. He was overly cheerful, and Ryuu considered more than once poking him with the pointy end of his sword. “Come on, let’s get started. It should only take us four or five days if we make good time.”
“I remember the trip as being a lot longer than that.”
“The last time we made it, it was. But you were also five then and didn’t walk as fast as you do now. I also found you several days east of the city.”
Ryuu chastised himself. Of course. He gathered his belongings in a pack and took off with Shigeru. As promised, the trip only took four days. It was uneventful, but Ryuu felt like he was being reborn. He remembered clearly parts of his first journey with Shigeru. He remembered the plains turning into forests, and now the forests turned back into plains. It was like re-entering the real world after a long absence in a make-believe land. Now and then he glanced up to make sure Shigeru was still in front of him and real.
As they approached New Haven, Ryuu began to sense not just the enormity, but the density of the place. People were stacked on top of other people and they mixed and tore apart in innumerable ways. In just the space of a heartbeat Ryuu could sense people making love, fighting, selling, bartering, begging, bribing, coercing, threatening, and laughing. In the unconscious monotony of the journey, Ryuu had spread his sense out much too far, and the sudden awareness of too much information overwhelmed him. He brought his sense back in, trying to find the ideal balance.
He was doing well until they entered the limits of the city. On the outskirts, Ryuu’s mind felt like it snapped. There were too many people, too much to keep track of. He couldn’t distinguish an enemy from a salesperson. He fell to his knees and clutched his head between his hands, rocking back and forth in an effort to get the information out of his head. In the past he had never had to restrict his sense. He had always allowed it to roam and to wander.
Shigeru’s voice penetrated the chaos surrounding his mind. He could hear the concern. Shigeru was repeating himself. He probably had been for a while. He was repeating Ryuu’s name. Ryuu glanced up and tried to focus on Shigeru’s face.
Shigeru noticed. “Focus on my voice. Think only about my voice. I’m right here for you.”
It took a tremendous effort, but Ryuu soon brought all of his focus to Shigeru’s voice. Shigeru kept speaking to him softly, reassuring him. As he focused, the pain in his head started to recede, replaced by an overwhelming numbness. He was tired, but it was better than being on the ground in pain. He saw the looks of the few passersby on the street.
Still focusing on Shigeru’s voice, Ryuu found his feet and stood up, supported by Shigeru’s shoulder.
From Shigeru’s voice, Ryuu focused on meditating on his own center. The drills came back to him, learned over cycles of practice. Ryuu had found them meaningless in training, but understood now. After a couple of breaths, he was back, his sense limited to just a pace or two around him. He and Shigeru could have been the only people in the world at that moment.
He smiled uncertainly. “I’m back. That was . . . a lot.”
Shigeru nodded. The two of them stood in the center of the street as Ryuu tentatively expanded his sense once again. He let it expand a pace at a time, sipping at the extra information it provided. Once it got to be too much he backed off, limiting himself. It was tiring, but Shigeru had put him through much worse in training. He could handle it.
As they continued into the city, Ryuu continued to experiment. He would push out his sense until his head started to hurt, then bring it in close for a time. He practiced pulsing his sense out versus keeping it extended all the time. He was looking for balance, and every step into the city was more natural than the one preceding it. Like all challenges, he would overcome.
Shigeru led Ryuu through the city, allowing him the time and space to experiment with his sense. It was a cold day and most people did not travel slowly. People were bundled in layers, rushing from one house to the next, seeking warmth wherever it could be found. As a young man who had lived his entire life outside, Ryuu was confused. He didn’t notice the cold the way others seemed to. He asked Shigeru about it, as he also seemed to be unaffected.
Shigeru would only provide one of his cryptic
answers. “Our minds protect us.”
There was little to be gained from a visual inspection of their surroundings. There was nothing to see in the midst of the winter season. The buildings were drab and lifeless. They were bigger than Ryuu had seen in the villages near the forest, but besides size, there was little to distinguish them from anything else. As he lifted his gaze to the center of the city he saw buildings which were much larger and more ornate. Those he was interested in.
His memories were vague, but he recalled that New Haven was a place of lights and activity. The signs were everywhere, but the cold had shut the city down. Market stalls were empty and restaurants had their doors sealed tight against the blowing snow. If not for the sense, Ryuu almost could have convinced himself they were alone in the city.
Ryuu did notice no one his age wore a sword, at least with any ease. There were a few young men who seemed to carry swords as a symbol of status. But Ryuu could tell in a glance they were not actual swordsmen. Their bodies told him from the way they walked, the way they held themselves, their lack of muscle and awareness. He felt a revulsion towards them. Shigeru had taught him nothing but respect for the sword and the path which it cut. To wear a sword and not be prepared to use it made Ryuu sick. A sword was a weapon, not a fashion accessory. To wear one without skill was demeaning and dishonorable.
Ryuu felt the glances several of the adult men gave him. He couldn’t read their minds, but he suspected they felt about him much the same way he felt about the other boys carrying swords. They suspected him of being undeserving, of being a boy playing in a man’s world. A small piece of him shouted out, angry. He did not like being misjudged. He knew how to use a sword. He was nothing like these pretenders. But he kept his hand far from his sword. Shigeru had drilled into him well the importance of secrecy. He didn’t like being underestimated, but it was better than being killed.