The monk and the beggar shared the fire’s comfort and talked well into the quiet night and long after she had fallen asleep. Their tone was for the most part serious, punctuated in places by honest laughter. He was gone by the time she awoke, so she did not see his parting gesture. The beggar had solemnly dropped a large rock onto the skirt of the dying fire. Neither did she know that the dropping of the rock coincided perfectly with the falling head of a distant sentry who had just finished making his last report.
Within the moon’s half cycle the end of their travels was in sight. They could see from the sparse lowland an oasis of lush green rising up before them in the distance. It stretched for miles untouched and unvisited by the few locals that lived nearby, for often a land long sacred carries within it the power to remain unmolested. The arrival of monk, woman, horse and cart, to holy ground attracted little attention, and needed no explanation.
To Selah this quiet protected area called to them, as if it had always belonged to them and them to it. As they arrived at its hub, she felt its welcoming nature. It hinted once again at security and family, even though her mother was painfully absent and terribly missed. They moved past the outer walls to the great hall, where they unloaded the weapons and armor from the cart of their tired horse.
The site was ancient, but not in tremendous disarray. It was simpler than most temple structures, more home than place of worship. She would start with a good cleaning. Within only a few months her work and womanly touch began to breathe vitality here once again. A small but adequate garden was soon planted and tended. Wild game was abundant, and before long there were cattle grazing and hens nesting or scratching and pecking as they roamed freely around the place.
Her father renewed his vows of priesthood. Martial training occurred daily, as did the study of the ancient manuscripts that had found their resting place within the structures simple library. All daily chores were done in a way that enhanced his strength and fighting skills, and by evening’s lamplight he poured over the written mysteries of age-old documents.
Like her mother before her, it was not long before Selah was collecting and categorizing the medicinal plants growing in this serene location. Also, very much like her mother, she had begun to feed mulberry leaves to the worms, and spin, dye, and weave their silken bounty. Her father meanwhile seemed more focused than ever.
The destroyed ruins of his former monastery hovered high and silent on the distant mountaintop, but its essence lived on within his soul. Day by day he methodically prepared spirit, mind, and body, for a challenge he sensed inevitably drawing closer.
The oldest scrolls were painted more than a thousand years before, from the time of the First Emperor. One particular passage veiled in the prophetic tradition held his attention, and he meditated daily upon its words. He soared with wings of wisdom to places of light and darkness and ascended toward the serenity of understanding, duty, and acceptance.
“From setting sun a man doth come, beaten by the rain,
Drawing sword from stone, he will rise through blood and pain.
From slave to king, to free the beast, that lies beneath the hill,
Eternity the last embrace and Death must drink its fill.”
Mah Lin listened to the raven’s call, and within the echoes of its fading cry, the priest heard much more.
The day that she had finished making her father his richly colored full silk robes marked the creation of a new weaving, a cloth long ago finished and only now begun. “Selah,” he said, “a man soon arrives. Since the beginning of time we three were woven together. Make ready the cart, and give the raven an extra tasty morsel. We must leave to collect him.” Selah was surprised by the news, but obeyed without question.
She set to her tasks with a smile, intrigued by her father’s enigmatic tone and amused that he had noticed she had taken to feeding the bird that had long claimed them as its own.
By the glow of moonlight, the battalion quietly snaked its way up the temple mountain like a great mythical beast. Some of the old veterans felt that the young general’s rise up through the ranks had been far too rapid. He was not well seasoned in battle, and the few he had fought had been little more than skirmish.
Although competent, to those that knew well the temper of war, disturbing traits had surfaced. This handsome general chose his opposition carefully. These lesser adversaries were dispatched cruelly. By taking as few risks as possible he had moved up in the military machine, for as the old ones often joked, “Ambition and avarice are easier to quietly promote than to loudly rectify.”
The emperor had learned that this monastery held the secret of the world’s finest blades. He had watched his young general test one recently acquired. The spring steel swords that were the standard issue of his troops snapped like twigs under its onslaught. Before an army of these, nothing could stand. He had given these monks the honor and opportunity of gifting their country, but citing religion, they had politely refused. Strong principle coupled with superior arms is a dangerous combination, and not one that could be allowed to survive.
The general’s past had secured his first large assignment. He knew the layout of the temple grounds. Karma—this direction had not been the intended one, yet it brought him back to this place. He knew that these monks were not a simple collection of spiritual misfits. He knew that they practiced martial arts but that their way was one of peace.
His rejection by the soft weak abbot, and the smell of the dirty boy returned vividly to his mind and vengeance ruled his judgment. He hated this place and the monks within its walls. Their piety, wisdom, and peace had long ceased to hold a place within his world. They had been given the option of life but instead chose death, and now they would taste the bitterness that faith and devotion bring.
By dawn the general and his entire battalion had taken up their position on the mountaintop. The armor of horse and rider greedily drank in the new morning rays and reflected nothing. Not a single bird sang out as five hundred heavily armed and battle seasoned soldiers waited for the order. Surprise would not be necessary for they held the overwhelming strength of number. Although a mundane operation, it would not be joyless.
The general carefully reviewed his mission one last time. He alone knew what would be done. All the monks must die, and the great library would be carried back and handed triumphantly to the emperor; extermination and presentation. With his first gesture the heavy oak wood of the temple gate was set ablaze. He smiled as the fires were lit against doors that had once been closed in his face. The smoke from the wood stacked upon them curled frantically skyward, from black to white and whiter still, until angry flames burst forth to do their work. Within the hour the protective gateway was weakened and breeched, the soldiers poured in and the slaughter began.
Not even the most battle hardened expected the resistance they met. In an instant what the general thought their strength had become their weakness. They fell by the score, cut down by monk steel like wheat in a summer’s field. They stepped and slipped on their fallen comrades pushed forward by the weight of their sheer numbers. The void left by absent birdsong was filled that morning by the nightmarish screams of the dying soldiers. Inevitably the gore robed monks began to fall, and of them, not one cried out.
He sat upon his horse and for most of the conflict stayed well back and out of harm’s way. For him appearance was everything. In the eyes of his men he must seem to be strong when he knew he was weak, he must seem to be brave when he knew he was fearful, and must seem to be clear when all thought was confusion. The steed beneath him jostled without direction as, with sword in hand, the general shouted meaningless orders to his falling soldiers.
He wore his bravado like a loud and boastful cape; a cape that he hoped hid from his men the sum of all of his fears. He was prepared