The Raven's Warrior. Vincent Pratchett

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СКАЧАТЬ and worry what his permanent castigation would be. For the next month the young monk trained like one possessed, and although his mind still wandered outside the temple walls and to the home of the beautiful woman, he knew that his life’s purpose remained within them.

      Under the youthful eyes of the old abbot, Mah Lin set to task. The venerable one had seen potential beneath the outer rebellion of the young monk. Sometimes as it was now, a challenge can be a gift and a punishment merely a test.

      For the young monk, the day began much sooner than the dawn. His regime now started well before the sounding of the rooster. Nourished only by a hasty breakfast of rice-gruel and vegetables, the vigorous training of mind and body began with stretching and stance. When the other monks were given time for rest and contemplation, the young Mah Lin was made to learn new and more demanding forms. Sweat rolled from his shaved head and over wiry shoulders, where it channeled down like a river guided by the muscles of his sturdy chest.

      If this reprimand was designed to break body or spirit, it did neither, for as much as was thrown on the shoulders of the young monk, he took more. When all his brothers were settled for the night, Mah Lin was still practicing the physical lessons of his day. At its end he would descend to the temple library and sweep the dust from floor and shelf, from here he would move on to the polishing of the weapons within the armory and the shoveling of the coal dust from the temple forge. Only then, filthy and exhausted, would he close his eyes long enough to begin another day.

      Time flew by; a month seemed like a week. Lately he had taken to looking openly at the sacred texts and brandishing the temple’s finest swords. It was here in the lamp lit darkness of the temple cellar that both blade and imagination flew. The day arrived when that flight was cut short by the abbot’s stern voice. Mah Lin jumped like a child with a hand caught in the honey jar.

      The abbot’s words boomed out, “It seems you are drawn to both weapon and word, but as novice you must drink milk before you eat meat, as child you must crawl before you can run. Sword and literature lie at the foundation of our order, but their proper study requires both time and guidance. Report tomorrow and accept your full and permanent retribution, your month has passed.”

      By morning the stark confines of the abbot’s chamber were washed by the soft light of the new day. Mah Lin saw the scrolls hung upon its walls and the gathering of senior monks that sat cross legged where floor met wall. An ancient but exquisite blade had been brought from the temple vault and now lay prominently upon the patriarch’s simple desk.

      Mah Lin had never seen this sword, but knew by instinct what it was. Often in the quietness of the nights he had heard of its existence, whispered conversations always wrapped in tones of awe and reverence. As Mah Lin wondered if its purpose was to cut him swiftly from the Order, the abbot got straight to the matter at hand.

      “Mah Lin, you have violated your sacred trust, and your position within these cloistered walls has been assessed. It has been decided that you are to continue your routine of punishment. Your seniors say that you learn well, but there is still much they have to offer. They will break you or they will build you—time will tell.

      In addition, you are now the keeper of the forge and the protector of our sacred library. You will be taught the secrets of transforming earth into metal and study with the most venerable the sacred documents which you are now, with your life, sworn to protect.” The abbot lifted the sword from the desk and walked towards the novice, passing it respectfully to the young monk he continued. “This weapon is named The Sword of Five Elements and is the soul of our dwelling. It is your blessing and perhaps your curse. May wisdom guide you in its purpose. Mah Lin, you are dismissed.”

      And so, as quickly as it began, it was over. Mah Lin walked from the old priest’s chambers, still not sure what had just transpired. The abbot for his part smiled and conversed with the senior monks, feeling much younger than his many years. He had known all along that this punishment fit the talented offender well, and that Mah Lin was the only one with the qualities needed for the honor bestowed.

      Still reeling from the morning’s event, the young monk moved lightly along the hallway and down the stairs. Alone once more, he examined every detail of the sword within his hands, and with the eyes of his soul peered into its depth.

      Steel and parchment were now his life’s one purpose, and his spirit sailed upon the winds of destiny.

The Sacking Of The Temple

      Selah had spent her first six years fatherless, but with no regrets. By age seven she was both strong and resilient, and the taunts of older children were quickly silenced with a small but well aimed fist. In the quiet shadows of night she had often seen her mother lovingly caress the orange robe by her bedside. Instinctively she knew it held a memory and therefore a bond. She did not know, however, that it brought her mother back to that night long ago when a young monk had climbed over the temple walls.

      For her mother there would never be anyone else. From conception’s first night she would dedicate herself completely to the study of traditional medicine. As she treated her steady stream of patients, Selah would be there helping prepare tonic, antidote, and cure, for ailments of all description. Mother and child would often forage like free animals for the rare and potent healing herbs that grew in the surrounding area. They would speak often of the time when as an adult she would meet the father she had never known, and he would meet the daughter he never knew existed.

      She was surprised when the dark and distant plume from the temple summit had brought forth from her mother tears of sorrow. She did not understand the grief with which her mother prepared the cart and said, “We go now to meet your father.” She knew only that this was not the joyous meeting that they had talked about so often and for so long. Following her mother’s emotional cues, she prepared herself for whatever was to come, and at the age of seven found the strength of steel in her young and innocent soul.

      The acrid black smoke that had billowed upward from the ruined temple had changed texture. It hung in the air like the oily black plumage of the crows watching from high places. As the small girl and her mother struggled to pull their cart from mountain path to entrance, the last remnants of a smoldering gate collapsed in what seemed an ominous gesture of welcome.

      The open courtyard that had once pulsed with the sounds and routine of sacred monastic life now screamed silently from the faces of the many corpses that lay strewn and scattered about. The actions of the woman and child mirrored perfectly the actions of the scavenging crows; they began methodically to pick apart the dead. This, however, was no common pillage.

      They had no interest in the valuable armor and weapons of the many dead soldiers. Instead they searched robe to saffron robe looking relentlessly for him. They sat defeated and still, until a raven cried out from a mountainous pile of armored bodies, awakening them from their despair. They both moved at the same time, and with one mighty push, the black bird flew up and the large body at the top went tumbling down, revealing the treasure that the woman and child had been seeking. They had found Mah Lin.

      While the woman struggled with the task at hand, the small girl studied the large black bird. It stood calmly, framed by the open door before it, peering into the dark interior. ‘What was it staring at?’ she wondered, her childlike curiosity immediately banished fear. When the raven walked inside Selah quickly followed. With awkward hops it led her down the stone steps and disappeared into a cool square room. She stood still, listening for its whereabouts and letting her eyes adjust to the darkness.

      Her vision cleared and the scrolls and parchments on the many shelves now became her focus. She scooped up an armful. By dust and smell she knew that they were old and that she must show them to her mother.

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