Nix Mortem - Chapter 2
"Stop." Daichi said quietly, breaking his silence. Yarran often pondered why it was that Daichi was like this. Whilt it was true that the monks were supposed to maintain minimalism and simplicity in their speech, most of the others would talk and gossip like old housewives. Daichi, on the other hand, took these words to a whole new level. Whilst Yarran hadn't known him for long, even his quietest word was a rarity, and was met with a somewhat shocked reception. His voice carried a type of weighty volume to it; one unheard by the human ear, and that gave the impression of leashed power and a right to be heeded. "Speak less, listen more. One's potential is never reached through words; only action. Words distract the mind from action. If you wish to reach monkhood, your endless chatter should stop." Daichi smiled a deep smile, his dark eyes squinting. "Lest I send you out to speak with the birds."
This was the closest to a joke that Daichi would make, and whilst Yarran smiled back, he did take his best to take the advice to heart. A few minutes passed.
"Why do you do this, Daichi?" Yarran then asked.
"Peace."
"But there is never any conflict or drama here. The entire monastery is peaceful." Yarran left his question implied.
"No." Daichi said, observing the petals of a particular flower with an strange kind of tenderness. "Inner peace. Tranquility. Control."
"I'm afraid I still don't understand." Yarran said.
"You will." Daichi replied. "You are young. You have much to experience still. When you have been at the monastery for 50 years as I have, you will understand."
Silence stood as Yarran was still not satisfied with the answer. Daichi sighed and tried again.
"As you grow older, you look back on your life and wish that you had been more active. That you could change things. I often wonder how different my life would have been had I never come to this monastery. I believe I made the right decision, and that doubt is a demon I struggle with. Whenever I should start to feel frustrated or angry with my life, I come out to here, where I can relax, and have complete control over my garden."
The silence resumed, and Yarran spent the time building up the courage to ask a more direct version of his question.
"What I meant was, why are you different?" Daichi paused, and Yarran saw his eyes take on a sudden sadness, remembering something painful.
"I know what you meant." He said. A few moments again passed, Yarran's curiosity hung thick in the air. Finally, Daichi graced him with something of an answer.
"Love." Daichi said simply, gently caressing the flower. This piqued Yarran's curiosity further still, but he cared much too deeply for the old man to push for any more information. He knew that Daichi had already show him a special kind of honour by speaking to his with what little openness he did, and that the conversation had reached its end, whether he liked it or not. Yarran also felt an amount of guilt at his contamination of Daichi's time of tranquility.
A few moments passed, once again, and Yarran decided that irritation was better for the venerable monk than sadness, and he began chirping away once again about the daily ongoings of the monastery. Daichi shot him a sharp look, which he chose to ignore for the sake of his mentor.
"Okay, boy." Daichi tossed Yarran a wooden sword from across the arena. "Time for another lesson."
Yarran knew that, whilst the stubborn old monk would never confess it, Daichi had the full intention to punish him for his insistance on having him talk earlier. Regardless, he bent down to pick up his sword. Before he could so much as stand again, he saw a sudden flash left, then one right, respectively followed by his sword being knocked across the arena, and his feeling a sharp strike on his side. He fell to the ground in pain, and looked up to see Daichi standing over him, having crossed the arena at a seemingly impossible speed.
"You are much too slow and careless." Daichi said, extending his offhand down to Yarran. Yarran reached to lift himself up, and felt himself fully thrown over and behind Daichi's shoulder to land flat on his back looking up at the old man who had a fire in his eyes and a sword tip to Yarran's throat. "Never trust an enemy." Daichi backed off and allowed Yarran to stand, and used his foot to flick the disarmed young man's sword back to him. Yarran caught it and took the stance he had only recently been taught.
Daichi stood casually, the sword held in his hard, the spine resting over one shoulder. Yarran approached him cautiously, and swung at the man's side, intending to return the blow he had received. Without moving his sword, Daichi ducked well below the sword before immediately returning to his original position. Yarran swung overhead at the man, and the swing was sidestepped, then displaced by the body of the old man, who stepped back to his position once more. Yarran, thinking he would be clever, tried the overhead slice again, this time stepping sideways as Daichi did to meet him. However, this time, Daichi immediately followed his sidetep by a casual step forward into Yarran, using nothing but this movement to send Yarran sprawling in the sand once again.
Daichi allowed him to stand and assume his stance once more. This time, Daichi began with a heavy charge at Yarran. Yarran closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable beating. It never came, as Daichi dropped his sword and doubled over, his body racked with uncontrollable coughs. Yarran dropped his sword and rushed to the aid of the man, who simply reached up, cupped his hand to Yarran's ear, and threw him sideways once again. He continued to cough, barely managing to force out the words "Lesson over." before passing out in the sand.
"What's wrong with him?" Yarran asked Tamotsu.
Tamotsu sighed. "He is old, Yarran, going on eight hundred moons. He over exerted himself, and unfortunately there is no cure for old age."
The old man lay pale, sweating in his bed, his shallow breathing broken by moments of silence. Yarran felt guilt, once again, at his folly in taunting the old man with his endless chatter. He blamed himself for the state he was in, and so felt doubly inclined to care for the old man.
"What can I do to help?" Yarran asked.
Tamotsu smiled. "You have a good heart, my young friend. There is little that can be done, however, if you should leave the walls of the monastery to the east, there may be some herbs on sale in the village that may ease his condition." Yarran picked himself up immediately, and went to leave the room. "Hold on." Tamotsu said. "You may actually need to know what you're looking for."
"Oh." Yarran replied sheepishly.
"Bloodwood." Tamotsu said. "Make sure it's the real thing. It must be red; not brown, not purple, but red. There are many traders out there who would love to take your money for a false good. Be wary of this."
"I'm well aware, Tamotsu. I'm no stranger to the town."
"Of course, my mistake." Tamotsu replied. "Having lived here so long, I sometimes forget that others started elsewhere." He reached into the small bag on his belt, and pulled out ten copper coins. "This could cover a twoweight of bloodwood. If they should ask for anything more, refuse. This is all it should be worth."
Yarran nodded and silently took the coins, and his figure was shortly gone from the darkening horizon.
Yarran was right in that he was not new to the town, but after eight moons away, he most certainly was a stranger. In the early morning light, people saw him, people he once knew, and whilst they recognised him, they seemed somewhat reluctant to acknowledge his existence, instead going about their ways and shrugging off the chill of the morning. He felt quite bothered by this alienation, an alienation that he was once on the other side of. The monks were considered strange and foreign to the nation, and were generally treated with an amount of contempt. People always fear the unknown, and from this perspective, Yarran was considered something of a turncoat to his own people. How he wished they could see what he now saw, in what good people the monks were. Tired and sore from the night's walk, and he rubbed his noticably bruised side through his modest monk's robes, and made his way towards the market square.
Even had he not known the village layout like the back of his hand, he was sure he could have found his way to the market from the combination of sound and smell alone. The noise of calling traders, advertising their good, conversation between citizens, and bartering between buyers and sellers was somewhat overwhelming when he eventually reached the square, as was the smell of fresh food. After weeks of nothing but stale rice, the latter inevitably made his mouth water, particularly when he spotted a fresh fruit stand. He refocused himself, and reminded himself what the money was intended for, before approaching the young lady selling the fruit.
"Excuse me, miss."
She looked at him with the smile of a merchant looking to make a sale, but her eyes betrayed a level of suspiscion.
"Can I help you, darlin'?" She said, continuing her facade of friendliness.
"I'm looking for bloodwood. Where would that be?" She quickly looked away, as if pretending never to have seen him, and started attending to another customer. "Miss." He insisted again, "Please, it's important."
"Oh, I bet it's important." She said. "Bugger off." Any further attempts to speak to her were blatantly ignored.
"Hey bud, I hear ya." The man in the next stall over said. "But you won'ts be finding that kinda stuff around all them proper folks. Go try the fellow down that alley."
Yarran nodded his thanks, and determinedly made his way down the alley towards a shadowy figure in a long, dark coat, hood drawn over his eyes.
"Well?" The dark figure said, in a tone of impatience that bordered on anger.
"I'm looking for bloodwood." Yarran said, doing his best to mask his anxiety at the whole exchange.
"You have money?" The man demanded. Yarran extended his hand of coppers over to the man, who examined them with open suspicion, before handing them back. "I've changed my mind. Go. I won't take money from no stinkin' monk, least of all a cheap local."
Between the memory of Daichi laying back home in bed, and his frustration his conitinual treatment as an outsider, and his long night of travel, Yarran had had enough. He grabbed the man and spun him around, and forced his front into the wall that was behind him. He used one hand to pin his hands behind his back, and the other to pull back his hood, and twist it to apply a warning amount of pressure around the man's throat.
"Not an option." Yarran said. "You see, the monks are pacifists. However, I am not yet one of them. Now, the bloodwood." The man, more startled than anything, rasped.
"It's in my pocket." Yarran released one of the man's hands. The man reached into his pocket slowly, before suddenly pulling out a small knife, which he drove into Yarran's thigh. Yarran yelped in pain, instinctively throwing the man sideways down the alley, and slumped down. The man clambered to his feet and fled from sight, leaving Yarran alone in the alley, sitting against a wall and clutching his leg. He pulled out the knife, and held his cloak over the wound in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. 'Never trust a stranger.' Daichi's words echoed in his mind.
He sat, panting and sweating for a time, before picking himself up and making his way out of the alley. The wound continued to bleed, as his pushed his way through the indifferent crowd, and made his way toward a house he knew well. He stepped through the door to see his father cooking breakfast. His father turned to him, with a look of surprise and joy.
"Son! So wonderful to see you again at last!" He looked at the leg that Yarran was holding. "Whoah, you're hurt. Come, sit down. Let's have your mother see to that."
By lunch, Yarran's wound had been bandaged up, he had eaten a late breakfast – not rice, to his joy - and he had recounted his stories, from both his time and the monastery and from that morning, to his fascinated parents.
"Bloodwood is a drug." His father said suspiciously. "I would be careful around that monk, if I were you. Noone trustworthy ever deals with that awful stuff. Still, give me the coins. I'll see what I can do about that."
His father returned shortly before sunset, and Yarran had taken this time to catch up on some much needed sleep on a fur by the fire. He awoke to his father's voice, tinged with excitement, as he recounted a tale to his mother.
"Imperial guard, they were. Lead by a woman, no less! Could it be the ScryGuard?"
"I suppose." His mother replied. "But what would they be doing here?"
"What else? Searching for the exiled one! Maybe he's here! Who knows?"
Yarran woke himself up. This was news. The ScryGuard had ended their patrols decades back, but had been reformed recently, and would only be out this far based on a strong new lead. If they were here, it was very possible that the exiled one was nearby.
"Don't be ridiculous, Jonathon. It's been over half a century. Even if he is still alive, how in the world would they have found a new lead by this time?"
His father was a little hurt by that.
"Well, all the same, they were asking where the monastery nearby was, and I volunteered Yarran to guide them. He needs to be taken on a cart, anyway, given his leg – he certainly can't walk it."
Yarran felt a surge of excitement by this, and sat up, his parents only now realising he was awake.
"You heard that, I assume?" Said his mother. "Your father has managed to find you bloodwood, and a way back to the monastery – and with the ScryGuard, at that – all in one outing. What a marvelous man, I have married, don't you agree?" Yarran nodded.
They went over what his father had planned out concerning the logistics of his guiding the ScryGuard – where they would meet, and when, what to take, and so on. His father, nosey as ever, also suggested that he talk to them about what they were doing here, to try to find out some answers.
"But he's so much quieter now." His mother said amusedly. "Those monks must be doing something right. Why ruin all their hard work?"
"There's a time for silence, Amy, and a time to squeeze some answers out of the ScryGuard." His father stated firmly.
"I'll see what I can do." Yarran interjected, smiling and generally feeling happy with himself, and glad to finally see his parents again. Eight moons was a long time away, after all, and a long time to go without good conversation and good food, and whilst his parents' meagre provisions were well short of kingliness, they were a welcome change from the meals back at the monastery.
"Alright. You'd best be getting back to sleep now, dear. It's late, and you've still much sleep to catch up on." Yarran lay back down. His parents went to their room, still talking excitedly about the day's events, leaving Yarran reminded of Daichi's words just yesterday about talking less. His mind wandered back to his mentor's feeble state, then to the events of the day, and became again aware of the twinge in his leg. His mind continued then to bloodwood, then to the alienation he received from the people of the village, then finally to the plans for tomorrow. His heart racing with excitement, he wasn't going to get a lot of sleep tonight, that much was certain.
Nice story buddy, can't wait to read the next part <3