The horses were fed and tended, and the young girl took the sword from her father as if he were himself a horse being stripped of brass, blanket, and bridle. As we walked towards the large house, we passed a deep pond of lilies. I could see fish thrash and surge to hold orange heads above the surface. Their wagging tails reminded me of my wolfhounds, which once jostled happily to greet their returning master.
We entered the house through a great hall. Weapons and armor from all over the world lay scattered from far wall to near. I recognized some, but most looked foreign, from a different place or a different time perhaps. Many pieces were just strewn and dust covered, others seemed waiting to be picked up and handled again. There were spears, clubs, short swords, scimitars, slings, projectiles, helmets, shields, and breastplates.
It brought from my memories tales about the dragon’s lair, dark and cavernous, littered with the weapons, armor, and bones of brave souls previously dispatched.
I thought once more of the mythical serpent, childhood dreams and adult nightmares, of journeys ended and journeys begun.
My body’s passage over, my mind raced onward to catch and hold the truth. Days before, lying within the moving wagon, it had fought to grasp reality. It had moved in vision from event to event, and weighed each one heavily against the possible and the probable. It saw the one beneath the shimmering robes that could not hide the strength and power of the man who wore them. It fixed itself upon his flashing steel—a sword described in legend.
My mind saw again the creatures of his land, wild animals that at a glance were tamed by his authority. It seemed that every living thing knew its place, and that he was the keeper of this garden. From lofty sky to waters deep, all awaited and respected his command.
It turned from man to girl, and remembered her skillful touch and unworldly beauty. It reviewed the passing of recent events with care and accuracy to avoid all room for error. It saw again the mixing of the plants and potions and remembered the strength giving magic of her bitter teas. It remembered their pungent but not unpleasant smells, it wandered further and held experience up to reason’s light.
The needles had been sunk deep beneath my mangled skin, and then rotated one by one, but as if by magic no pain did come. Surely this was not possible in any realm of man. Emotion screamed through my careful logic. This was powerful sorcery bound to witchcraft bold and unrepentant.
I arrived at the certainty that I was to be the object of their ungodly rituals, and sweat ran down my middle back. I thought about how to escape, but I knew I was still far too weak. I felt my blood drain instantly from my face, and as if by curse my limbs hung useless. I have never feared death, but now in every corner of my being I trembled, frail and pathetic. It was not my flesh I dreaded losing, it was my eternal soul.
As if on cue they entered the room and stared at me with concern, alarmed I think by my pallor. “Stand away from me,” I shouted. “My enemies have delivered me into the hands of a wizard and his witch. In another time and another place, I would be the one lighting the fires of purification under your feet.” I tried to run but tripped over some canes piled near the door. As I struggled to rise she was beside me helping me to my feet, laughing freely like a child. Then in a solemn tone, “I have heard about the burnings,” she said.
Her father, too, had finished smiling. “Be at peace,” he said, “this is not your time or your place, it is ours. My name is Mah Lin. I am a warrior monk, and the last of my Order. This is my daughter Selah, and in our time and our place she is a respected and skilled practitioner of Traditional Medicine.”
“Merlin, Sea Lass,” I repeated carefully, while they laughed at my butchered pronunciation. “Rest now and grow strong, and know that my sword has called your name,” said the wizard. In my language but with the richness of her tone and meter, “I will show him where he sleeps,” said the witch.
I fell asleep that first night thinking about the life that I had lost, and the life that I had found, and the dreams came back to me strongly.
From first breath life had not been easy, for he had arrived at a difficult time. Natural disasters had become the norm rather than the exception. If there was no drought, there was flooding, if there was growth, there were locusts. The last two seasons had been the worst that the living could remember. The land was not forgiving. Seeds perished where they were sown. The heavens were not pleased, and for this the earth now suffered.
In the world of men the rich were now poor and the poor were now dead. Animals starved in fields and people starved in hovels. Human flesh was sold in markets, and this two-legged mutton was cheaper than the meat of dog. This was the world into which he was born.
He was a good child and toiled hard beside his parents, but in these times hard work was not enough to build a life or keep a family together. Side by side father and son scaled the mountain and spoke little. The sadness within his heart overpowered any joy that conversation might have brought. Abject poverty had dictated the decision made. When a young mouth can no longer be fed, an alternative must be found. They had told him about the monastery, and he had seen the orange clad monks on many occasions, but he had never wanted to become one.
Although he was only twelve years of age, he had already found his life’s love, and it was her that he would miss the most. Her family had lived here in the shadow of the mountain temple, they had been neighbors all of his short life, and now he would see her no more. As the climb leveled and the temple loomed before him, so did fate. The tears that streamed down the haggard face of his father fed the hollow feeling in his gut. A hard embrace would be a son’s last memory of the father that loved him but could not keep him. Pushed gently toward the temple’s novice gate, the boy stared down to hide his pain.
He sat alone and empty before the massive wooden doors, and thought about his love. He gathered every detail of her within his mind. The night fell like the cold relentless rain, and as the boy shivered, he vowed in heart to hold her memory.
His solitude was shattered with the arrival of the dawn, for with it came another youth. This one had traveled far and was equipped with a comfortable bed roll and a generous supply of food. The new arrival was not pleased to find another, but with an arrogant look he surmised quickly that his predecessor would offer no competition. Both boys were the same age but very different in both appearance and demeanor.
The first to arrive was undernourished and filthy. His unkempt hair lay matted to his forehead, and the rags that draped his skinny body held the odor of the fields. He looked more a beggar’s child than an aspiring monk. He stared blankly at his surroundings, downcast. Many in this time shared his look, much work and little food had taken their toll. Yet there was something different about him. Something intangible spoke that while everything about him was broken and weak, something within him was not. The boy was glad that although he had nothing, at least he was no longer alone.
The other was well fed and much bigger. Although he had traveled far from the capital, he still had the look of polish. Dirt did not stick to him. In manner he was confident and focused. He had prepared well for this moment. He had rehearsed answers for any questions, and knew what qualities these monks were looking for. Now all he had to do was wait quietly for the doors to open for him. He would not fidget or look impatient, but within the hour he did both. He thought perhaps he could intimidate his nemesis and saw quickly that any looks in that direction went unnoticed.
For five full days and nights the boys had sat and slept. One cold and hungry, one warm and well fed, one anxious to begin his life within the temple, and one who no longer cared