Post by chaingunsamurai on Nov 17, 2018 15:01:51 GMT -7
Gunnar glanced out the arch of the gatehouse, grimacing at the newly awakening day; the sun was not yet up, and there was a steady rain that made the mud already a hand span deep. The scent of mulling wine in the kettle lifted his spirits a little bit, the new recruit was fairly capable at that, anyway. He had sandy blond hair and hazel eyes, barely even a growth on his cheeks yet. He said that he used to mull wine for his mother, and the recipe had been passed down to him. Gunnar didn’t really care where he learned to do it, only that the boy did it. He felt himself lucky to have him in the gatehouse with him. He was a guard for the small town of Ampshir, on the Essolan border Ila-na-Fey. Outside the gatehouse, in the distance, he could see the forest that comprised the border of the elven nation.
His eyes made out the outline of a figure approaching, and he blinked and did a double take. The sun wasn’t yet up, and already there were travelers on the road. He reached over, picking up his iron shod club that was part of his accoutrements as a town guard. He left the crossbow in the gatehouse. Hagen noticed the older man picking up his club, and clumsily reached for his out.
“Traveler” Gunnar grunted. Hagen nodded, and swallowed nervously. The two stepped out in the rain, immediately hearing the patter as in hit their rimed helms.
The figure was in loose fitted clothing, gathered at his waist with a sash, and both his wrists and ankles; much like a monk’s garb. He wore a long hooded cloak, the hood was down, and he noticed that the rain beaded up and rolled of the cloak like water off a duck’s back. The figure wore a round, hat made of what looked like steel, angling up from the rim to a peak at the center, and it was tied on with a string that was knotted under the figure’s chin. A long braid snaked out from under the hat, over the figures shoulder, with what looked like round weights braided into the end. Two sword hilts poked over the right shoulder of the figure, and at his left side was a rucksack that was probably hung over his shoulder. In the figure’s hand was a black walking stick that was almost 4 feet long. The figure itself stood over half as much taller. Displayed on the figure’s chest, hanging from a chain was the Haloed Sword of Kareevan, Prince of Swords.
A cleric, then. The figure came to a stop as Gunnar and Hagen approached, stopping some ten feet from the figure. Gunnar gripped the handle of his club reflexively.
The rim of the hat tilted up, to show the traveler’s face... and Gunnar sucked in a breath. The traveler’s face was rugged, with swarthy skin, his wide, flat nose tinged blue. His right eye was bright yellow, the left eye a deep, rich brown. It was a hobgoblin.
Gunnar hawked and spat “Filthy buggers” and then he realized he said it out loud. Hagen gasped, turning white as snow.
The traveler’s eyes went flat, devoid of emotion, and Gunnar sincerely thought that today was his last day. The hobgoblin’s gaze flicked from Gunnar to Hagen, then back/ “I wish entry” it said, after a long pause.
“Entry is barred until the sun rises” Gunnar replied automatically. That was the law. No one in or out unless the sun was up. Hagen was nodding, in case the traveler did not believe.
“Then I’ll wait.” The hobgoblin’s voice was the sound of gravel underfoot, crunching and shifting, stone against stone.
Gunnar was trying to think of a good reason to deny the hobgoblin entry, but he was also a priest of Kareevan, a sword saint. There was a temple in the square, he could find no reason. The three stood, two facing one, in the rain.
Suddenly, the boy cleared his throat. “We have mulled wine, in the gatehouse.”
The hobgoblin raised a brow, glancing to Gunnar, whom shrugged. The offer was made, he couldn’t think of a reason to deny it. The boy led the way, Gunnar at the hobgoblin’s side. The three stepped into the gatehouse, which was cramped for three, especially with someone the hobgoblin’s size. Gunnar wasn’t exactly small, himself, reaching an age where thickness was settling around his waist. Hagen handed the hobgoblin a pewter mug and poured. The hobgoblin tucked the walking stick into the crook of his arm and took the cup in both hands, warming them against eh metal. He held the cup under his nose and inhaled. Hagen poured cups for himself as well as Gunnar. The three sipped in silence, until the priest spoke.
“Clove.” He said. “Some kind of mint? Bogpepper?”
“Yes, yes, and yes” Hagen replied, clearly pleased the priest recognized the flavors. Emboldened, he nodded to the Priest’s walking stick.
“That’s a very nice walking stick you have there.” He admired, “Sure would like to get me one of those”
Gunnar noted the wood was black, with red striations like veins running up and down the length. The wood was smooth, with a rounded edge running up all but ten inches of one side, ending in a beveled edge.
The hobgoblin’s gaze unfocused for a moment. “Travel through the forests of Ila-na-Fey, and blunder into the territory of Vesve…” He snorted then continued, “Run afoul of one of their Druids. A Druid that Sung the heartwood from a lightning stuck Treant and Shaped it into a sword.” He took a long sip, “He said the Treant’s name was the sound of leaves in a spring breeze, falling upon the eddies of a spring fed pond… I liked that Druid. He was straight-forward and an honorable opponent.”
The Priest’s gaze snapped back, looking directly at Hagen. “I did not relish killing him.” He paused a moment, gesturing toward the gatehouse arch. “Sun’s up.”
His name was Yoshida Matsu. Priest of Kareevan.
There were other names for his Order… Battle Saints. Sword Saints. Blade Priests.
Kareevan was the God of Skill at Arms, the Prince of Swords; and he required all of his priests to reflect this aspect. They were world renown and universally respected.
Yoshida was allowed through the gate, as he knew he would be, making his way through the ankle deep mud.
[I’m glad I didn’t wear my tabi boots] he thought to himself sourly. His stomach grumbled in protest; he hadn’t eaten since the night before. Luckily, he’d been accosted by bandits on the road who thought they’d test themselves against a Sword Saint. It had been a while since he’d had this much money on him, not that they had much to speak of. He glanced around, spotting what looked to be an Inn. The sign over the door said, “The Sleepy Rooster” The building itself was on a stone foundation, raised about two feet off the ground. There was a wide porch on the front with a few chairs and a roof to protect from the elements. Yoshida Matsu thought the place was an excellent choice. He mounted the four steps, stopping at the top to kick of his sandals and take off his oilskin cloak, shaking the excess water out of it. He reached up and undid the knot that held on his jingasa, the conical steel hat with the wide brim.
In his culture it was believed to be unlucky to enter a building for the first time with one’s head uncovered, so that the spirits within could see who it was, and not play tricks.
Yoshida Matsu pushed the door open and stepped through. The light was dim, but he could see fine. The place was empty except for a heavyset man behind the long bar, idly wiping it down. And an equally heavy woman tending to a pot over the fire in the hearth. The man was balding, with a full beard, his apron spotted and stained. The woman was nearly as heavy as the man, with rosy cheeks, long hair in a braid.
“We’re closed” the man says, without looking up.
Yoshida Matsu places the jingasa back on his head, tying it under his chin. When he reaches the bar, he dips a hand into the sash around his waist and fishes out a coin, looking at it. It was an Essolan half-crown. He flipped the con onto the bar.
The man glanced at the coin, placed his hand on it, and slid it off the edge and into his pocket, then looked up and his eyes widened.
“What do you have?” Yoshida Matsu asked. It looked as if the man was going to return the coin, but he already accepted it. That Yoshida Matsu was a priest of Kareevan is probably what changed his mind.
“Hen’s eggs. Bacon. Fresh baked bread. Sour cheese.” He replied. “Some chicken stew and dumpling from last night.” He added.
“Yes.” Yoshida Matsu replied.
“Yes?” the bartender echoed in confusion.
“To all.”
The bartender blinked several times, then motioned to the woman at the pot. She got up, hurried into the back room, moments later, a slim girl came out from the back room, Yoshida Matsu guessing her to be around 15 years old; taking the place of the woman at the pot, stirring the contents.
Yoshida Matsu chose a spot to the rear of the room, and sat down with his back to the wall, facing the door. It was something that was habitual now, and it was a habit that had saved his life many, many times.
After a short wait, the woman showed her face in the doorway, “Emmi, come here!” The girl obeyed quickly, dusking into the back room, coming out, loaded with plates. She set them in front of Yoshida Matsu; three fried eggs, a generous slab of bread with butter, a wedge of cheese, a chunk of bacon, and a bowl with hearty chicken stew that had chunks of chicken, potatoes, carrots, and onions atop which sat a few biscuits.
As the girl turned away, he called to her. “Chotto on’nanoko”
The girl turned at the sound of his voice, “My name’s not Chotto” she said.
There was a small upturning of his lips in good humor. He reached into a sash, pulling out a silver penny, handing it to her. “Arigatogozaimashita” he said. “That means, Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, ser… but my name’s Emmi. Not Chotto”. She bounced away happily.
He dug in.
The trio were moving about the Inn, preparing for the inevitable arrival of their guests for the breaking of their fast.
The food was very good, the biscuits hard, but manageable if dipped in the stew. He had finished everything but the stew, when three men entered the Inn.
Humans all, his eyes skimming over them. He noted several telltale bulges of small, hidden weapons. The apparently leader was sandy haired, with a cocky strut and lithe grace. The two behind him were of the same relative size, but they didn’t seem to have the same natural grace of their leader.
[Not my business] he thought to himself. He was here for a meal, and nothing else. He bit down and chewed.
“Kennit” The leader said, speaking to the bartender.
“Rance”, Kennit replied, sweat breaking out on his forehead.
“Pay day.” Rance announced.
“Rance… tonight, I can pay you tonight” Kennit was nearly stammering.
[None of my business.] Yoshida Matsu thought to himself, this time a little sterner.
“Kennit, Kennit, Kennit..” Rance should his head in mock sadness, “You said you’d pay this morning… well, it’s morning.”
“I don’t have all of it, Rance, I didn’t make enough” The heavy man seemed desperate.
“Maybe we can take the balance owed out of the girl, yes?” That was from one of Rance’s companions.
Yoshida Matsu’s face hardened, the unfinished biscuit dropping into the stew.. [Now. Now it is my business.] He pushed back from the table, making certain that the chair scraped heavily against the wood floor. All eyes turned his way. He stood up, Sung wood in his fist. He strode over to the group of toughs casually, as if he was bored. The three eyed him carefully, and Yoshida Matsu knew they saw the Haloed Sword on his chest. When we was within five feet, he lifted his chin, meeting the gaze of Rance. The expression on Yoshida Matsu’s face was bland boredom.
“You will leave.” He said. “Now.” His voice was the sound of crushed gravel.
“Once Kennit and I…” He never got a chance to finish what he said.
A quick flick of his wrist and the Sung wood crashed into the side of Rance’s head. He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
Yoshida Matsu’s expression never changed. He glanced from one backup tough to the other, he angled the Sung wood up, pointing it at one then the other. “As of now” he grated, “the righteous blade of Kareevan’s fury hangs over this place; anyone … and I mean anyone, that offers violence to anyone who lives under this roof…” he swung the Sung wood down sharply. Once he was sure the message sunk in, he turned and went back to his table, as he did, his voice was loud in the silence “And take him with you.”
Yoshida Matsu sat back down as if nothing happened, finishing his breakfast.
Once finished, he got up and headed to the door then paused, a sudden thought hitting him. He turned to look at the girl, “Chotto. You will meet me at the Temple of Kareevan. One hour.”
“But she’s needed here!” Kennit protested.
Yoshida Matsu pointed the Sung wood in his direction, wordlessly, then made a violent downward chopping motion.
Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at the Temple, kicking his sandals off before he entered, but he left the jingasa on.
Yoshida Matsu was walking through the chapel when he heard a booming voice.
“YOSHIDA MATSU. SNIVELLING CUR. GIVE ME ONE REASON WHY I SHOULDN’T CUT YOU FROM NAVEL TO NECK AND DANCE ON YOUR INNARDS!” The voice echoed throughout the chapel, stopping Yoshida Matsu in his tracks, causing him to turn in place.
The man whose voice echoed through the chapel wasn’t nearly as big as his voice. Five ten at the most, 150 pounds soaking wet with rocks in his pockets, Mingan Nandera had earthy brown eyes, swarthy skin, and a mop of black curly hair. He was small, but he was quick. Yoshida Matsu knew that Mingan was nearly as quick as himself.
“Because I brought you a present.” Yoshida Matsu replied.
He glanced at the Sun wood in his hand, and his eyebrows shot up.
“Not that, baka.” Yoshida Matsu replied. “You are now the proud patron of the Sleepy Rooster. It is under your protection.”
His shoulders slumped, his head sagging, “I hate you.” He growled.
“But baka, you might get free mead out of the situation.”
At that, his head came up and he smiled. “This is true.”
Emmi left the Inn under the sullen stares of her aunt and uncle, but in a way, she was happy to leave. While it’s true they took her in after the death of her parents, she was treated like nothing more than a slave, fed sparingly, allowed a pallet in the kitchen near the fire, and she worked from before dawn to long into the night. Still, she had a roof over her head and food in her stomach, and for that she was grateful.
She knew where the Temple was, she’d seen it the few times she got to explore the city. It was a large building, squarish, without the typical adornment of many of the other temples in town; the one exception was a large depiction of the haloed sword of Kareevan carved into the granite of the building.
She approached, the heavy doors closed, looking around. The man, the HOBGOBLIN… wasn’t there. He made her nervous. All the stories she’d ever heard of their kind made them sound violent and unpredictable, bloodthirsty killers without mercy; but that didn’t seem the case with this one. He was quiet, he seemed fairly respectful. He did give that man a crack upside the head, but only after he threatened Uncle Kennit. But it was only one blow with a wooden sword. He’d seen men do far worse to other men.
He said to meet her in an hour, but he wasn’t here. Maybe he was having a joke with her. She frowned. She didn’t like that. Adults never took her seriously. She stared at the door for a long moment before coming to a decision. With a deep breath, she pushed it open. For its size, the door opened far easier than she thought it would. There was a small mud room, beyond it was a large chapel. Standing in the middle of the chapel was the hobgoblin, with a man standing next to him. The two seemed deep in conversation, unaware she even entered. Irritated, she cleared her throat loudly and immediately regretted it. Both sets of eyes turned to stare at her. The man was short, not much taller than her, really, with sun darkened skin and curly brown hair. The two were dressed alike, with loose fitting clothes gathered at the waist, ankles, and wrists. Both wore the Haloed Sword of Kareevan.
“I’m sorry, child.” The man said, “Are you lost?”
She shook her head in reply, pointing at the hobgoblin, “He told me to come.”
There was a look of surprise on his face as he looked up at his taller companion.
“You’re late.” He growled.
“You weren’t outside.” She replied, defensively. “I looked and waited.”
“I did not tell you to wait outside. I told you to meet me here.” He informed her.
She frowned, as if trying to find something wrong with what she said.
“Be nice, Yoshi.” The man said. “Have you no idea how to speak to children?”
“It’s hard to speak to children when I’m eating them.” The Hobgoblin replied, “It’s not polite to talk with your mouth full.”
Emmi suddenly quailed, envisioning herself being cooked and eaten by this monster.
The curly haired man gave the hobgoblin a sideways glance, “You’re scaring her, Yoshi.”
“Good” he replied. “She should be”. He took several steps toward her, standing no more than five feet away.
“Are you afraid?” he asked her.
“No.” she replied, a bit too quickly.
That wooden stick he used to crack that other man’s head came up and caught her solidly on the hip. “I asked you if you’re afraid.”
“No” She repeated.
Again the stick came up and caught her on the hip. It really smarted. The curly haired man looked over at the hobgoblin, “Yoshi.. be easy.”
“Are. You. Afraid?” he asked a third time.
“NO.” She almost yelled. “I’ve not afraid of you, Yoshi!”
The hobgoblin took one more step closer, looming over her, taller than by over a foot.
“Chotto” He growled in the crushed0gravel voice of his, “My name is Yoshida Matsu, of House Yoshida, Fifth House of Najano. I am fully Priest of the Order of Battle Saints. I have killed more men and women that I could possibly count, and you, Chotto, you will refer to me as ‘Sensei’, do you understand?”
She blanched as he began to speak, standing rooted to the spot, her fear was in the pit of her stomach and in the tingling of her knees, but she met his mismatched stare and stood her ground. “If I wanted to be beaten and yelled at, I could’ve stayed at the Inn with my aunt and uncle!”
He spun the sword in his hand once, and she winced at the blow that she knew was coming; but didn’t. “Listen. Hear me well. I will beat you. Probably every day, but I will beat you in combat. I will leave you bruised, possibly bloodied. But I will wait until you stand so that I may do it some more. I will test your limits, and I will break you if I must. Understand this, I will take those broken pieces, and I will build you back up, and I will put you back together, so that you will ever be at the mercy of those stronger than you. You may learn to hate me, as I learned to hate my master; but you will also learn to love me, as I have learned to love my master”
He turned, walking farther into the temple. “Follow me, Chotto.” She followed, the curly haired man following in their wake, clearly intrigued, as if he’d never seen this side of his friend before.
Yoshida Matsu stopped in front of a door, motioning to it. “This is your cell. It is not a prison, but a way to freedom. If you wish to learn. You will be brought a change of clothes.” He gestured to the ragged clothing she wore, “Those will be burned. You will receive a boku-toh. A wooden sword. You will carry it with you at all times. Do you understand?”
Emmi nodded, slightly in shock.
“You will respond.” He instructed her.
“Yes’ She replied
The stick came up again, “Yes, Sensei.”
“Yes, Sensei.” She echoed.
“Good.” He nodded. “You will eat 3 times a day. Once at 6th bell. Once at 12th bell, once and 18th bell. The rest of your day will be torment, layered upon suffering, sprinkled with exhaustion”
“At least I’ll be able to eat twice more a day…” She murmured.
The stick came up and caught her again. She winced, knowing she’d be limping tomorrow.
“You will only speak when asked a direct question.” He informed her.
“Yes Sensei” She replied. She wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of this, but there seemed little choice.
“Chotto.” Yoshida Matsu said.
“Yes, Sensei?” She asked.
“There is no shame in feeling fear. Fear is what drives us and motivates us to do what we do. The shame in fear, Chotto, is allowing it to make our decisions for us.”
Emmi woke up with the moment of disorientation you feel when it’s the first time you wake up in a new place. She blinked away the sleep, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light of the brazier burning low in the corner, a bag of charcoal nearby. She sat up blearily, running both hands over her face. She glanced around her cell. It was five feet wide and ten feet long, with a pallet pushed up against one wall, the head against the room’s corner. In one corner was the brazier, in another corner a basket with several sets of clothes; all were made of wool, some light, some heavy, all the same color brown. In the last corner was her waste pail.
Around her neck was a leather thong that held an iron symbol of Kareevan, the Haloed Sword. Leaning against the wall was her boku-toh.
She got dressed in one of her heavy wool outfits, noticing that on the ankles and wrists were strips of inch wide material and hung about ten inches from the cuff. She pulled a sash out of the basket and tied it around her waist, picked up her sword, then sat cross-legged on the pallet, sword across her thighs.
About half an hour later, the door opened. Yoshida Matsu stood in the doorway, with a pail of water in his hands. “You’re up. Good.” He said approvingly.
She shrugged, “I’m used to getting up this early, back when I lived at the Inn.”. That’s when the bucket of water hit her flush, leaving her coughing and spluttering, cold water soaking her to the skin. “What was that for!?”
“You forgot to call me Sensei.” He replied. “Be glad I don’t throw the bucket at you, as well.” He was serious. She knew it. She frowned and stood, sword in hand.
“Follow me, Chotto.” He told her. She stuck her tongue out at his back, but she followed.
They left the living chambers and went out into the courtyard. It was fairly large, and there was an elven woman whom seemed to be instructing a group of students in basic drills.
There was a smack of wood at her thigh, she yelped, and rubbed it. “Pay attention, Chotto.”
Standing in front of her, he bent kicked off his sandals and stood on one leg, the arch of his foot resting on the knee of his standing leg. He took his wooden boku-toh in two hands, holding it over his head as if defending a downward blow, or preparing to unleash an overhead attack.
“This is Wading Crane” He told her. “You will assume this stance.”
It took her a few tries, but she did it. She wobbled often and had to catch herself.
“The trick, Chotto, is to stare at one point. This aids you in keeping your balance.”
She did as he told her, and found he was right. He walked around her in a slow circle, using the tip of his boku-toh to adjust her stance, lifting her elbows, pushing them forward.
“Maintain your stance.” He instructed her.
“For how long?” She asked. His foot caught her in the back of the knee, causing her to crash to the ground, the tip of the Sung wood tapping prodding her. “Get up, Chotto. Do it again.” She did. This time, she didn’t ask for how long.
When he was satisfied of her stance, he moved behind her. She nearly lost her balance trying to following him wither her eyes.
“Stand still!” he snapped, and she obeyed. His fingers where in her hair, and for a moment, she didn’t realize he what he was doing, until she realized he was braiding her hair. He was pulling the braids tight, and she bit her lip at the discomfort. .
He finished braiding her hair without conversation, kneeling down on front of her about 8 feet away, sitting on his heels. He didn’t really seem to be paying attention to her, but she would bet that he was. She began to shake. Sweat popped out on her brow. Her arms ached, trembling.
She stood like that for an hour.
“Break.” He announced suddenly. She put her other foot down and let out an explosive breath, limping in circles to walk off the cramps in her legs.
Yoshida Matsu stood up. “Time to pray.” He announced. “Come.” He turned and headed to a small outdoor altar that was in the courtyard, and she noticed that the other teacher and her pupils were headed over there, as well. She glanced to Yoshida Matsu, then to the other teacher.
“Sensei?” She asked quietly.
“Yes, Chotto?”
“Don’t….” She seemed to be searching for words. “Don’t hobgoblins and elves not like each other?”
“She doesn’t like me very much.” He conceded.
“No, Sensei… I thought that elves and hobgoblins were mortal enemies.”
He nodded. “True. Yet Sensei Elethn knows that she and I are brother and sister in a family that transcends this reality”
“Transcends, Sensei?”
“Rises above, Chotto. The petty squabbles of race have no business here. She does not like me. But she trusts me with her life, and as well she should. I would lay down mine own for hers.”
“Sensei?” She asked.
“Yes, Chotto?”
“Would you do the same for me?”
He glanced down at her, “In time, Chotto. In time.”
They arrived at the shrine together, and he knelt, sitting on his heels. She mimicked him and he gave her a nod of approval.
“I’ve never prayed before” She said, more to herself than to anyone around her.
“Just say what is in your heart, Chotto.” He informed her.
She sat, thinking, then sent the thought out from her [Kareevan. Do I call you Kareevan? Sensei Kareevan?] She stopped and blushed, feeling herself an idiot. She grimaced and tried again. [Kareevan. I’ve never prayed to any god before, but you probably know that already. I’ve never really had much reason to. I feel I should thank you. Because I’ve been given an opportunity to have a better life. For the roof over my head. The clothes on my back] she gripped her boku-toh,
[and for the chance to be able to defend myself, and those like me.]
She opened her eyes and raised her head, not realizing she’d gripped her Haloed Sword. Yoshida Matsu’s eyes opened up moments later, then he stood up. She followed suit. “Come.” He told her. She followed.
They went into an outbuilding on the courtyard, where bowls of rice with a savory smelling gravy was ladled onto it. In the gravy were green vegetables and some kind of white tuber. Yoshida Matsu pulled out a pair of thin sticks that he pinched in a certain way to eat the food. She had a wooden spoon, much like the other pupils at the other table. She and Yoshida sat alone. He glanced up, noticed her studying the sticks. From inside his sash, he produced another pair and set them down in front of her. She picked them up, unsure how to use them. HE reached over, folding his hands over hers, showing her how to hold them correctly. She took an instant dislike to the tuber. That didn’t stop her from eating it all. It took her a while, because the sticks were hard to use. The other table cleared, but Yoshida waited patiently for her to finish.
oshida Matsu finally stood, beckoning her to follow. He led her back out into the courtyard, and came to a stop. “Wading Crane. The other leg, this time.” He instructed her. She did as she was told.
It was maybe another hour when the curly haired man crossed the courtyard to come over to Yoshida Matsu.
“Good morning, Yoshi.” He said.
“Good morning, Baka.” Yoshida Matsu replied.
“How’s she coming along?”
“She is capable of standing still under threat of imminent injury.” Yoshida Matsu answered.
“Aren’t we all?” He turned his attention to Emmi, “And what is your name, child?”
To her credit, her eyes remained focused on her chosen point of views, “Sensei Yoshida says that my name is Chotto until such a time he decides otherwise.” She told him, a hint of irritation creeping into her tone.
The curly haired man laughed, “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”
Emmi’s gaze shifted to him, “Should I call you Sensei Baka?” She asked.
Yoshida Matsu suddenly burst into laughter, the sound surprising Emmi enough to make her lose her balance and put her foot down, but she quickly recovered. Yoshida didn’t seem to notice; or care.
The curly haired man looked over at Yoshida Matsu with disgust, “No. My name is Taigh. Taigh IoPharan.”
Yoshida Matsu was wiping tears from his eyes, trying to recover.
Taigh’s look maintained a level of disgust. “Sensei Yoshida calls me Chisana Baka” he told her. “It means, ‘Little idiot”, or Baka for short”
Emmi couldn’t help herself, she started laughing.
Taigh shook his head, walking away.
Sometime later, after she got to switch legs and a short water break, another visitor came by. He was an older man, easily in his sixties, with an easy smile and the grace she’d already learned that marks every Battle Saint here. He had a boku-toh on him, as well as a pair of short, cured swords.
“Aisatsu, Sensei Yoshida-san.” He said, by way of greeting.
“Yoi gogo no masuta Havashir.” Yoshida Matsu replied.
“It has come to my attention that you’ve graduated to stealing children from their families” The tone was wry.
Yoshida Matsu raised the brow over his yellow eye, looking from Emmi to Havashir.
“You are free to leave, Chotto.” He told her.
She blinked, not really registering what was said to her. “Sensei?” She asked.
“If you wish, you may leave.” He informed her.
“No, Sensei.” She replied. She didn’t know why she said it, but she knew she meant it. The man called Havashir nodded once, as if satisfied.
She wasn’t standing on one leg anymore, and for a while, that was good. Now, she was at an angle, her hands on the ground, arms extended fully, her legs angled, her toes at a painful angle as the ball of her feet were bracing her. She was staring at the ground. If she was being honest with herself, she’d say she was staring at the puddle of sweat that was dripping off her nose and pooling on the ground.. It was warming up, but the sweat was from exertion, not the heat. She was sweating all over, and the wool was damp and itching like mad. Her teeth ached from gritting them. She wanted so badly to strip off her clothes and just be free of the irritation. She knew Yoshida Matsu was watching. He was not too far away, kneeling and sitting on his heels. He’d been like that as long as she was in what he called the “push-up” position. For a while he was having her lower herself to the ground and push herself back up, but now, she remained, arms extended, supporting her weight. She could feel the quivering. Her tows were cramped, as were her calves.
She lost track of how long she was there, she’d gave up on counting the drips of sweat that fell. Her hair was plastered to her face, only adding to her discomfort. She could hear the clatter of swords from the other pupils, and wanted to join them in swordplay. She knew that Yoshida Matsu would tell her no. She held her position.
“Chotto” At first, she didn’t realize what she was hearing. “Chotto” Yoshida Matsu repeated.
“Sensei?” It was a half question, half answer.
“You may stand” He instructed her.
She slowly levered herself up, her arms burning, and her feet barely holding her up from the cramps. She wanted to lean on her boku-toh, but she knew that Yoshida Matsu wouldn’t allow it. It took her a moment to straighten up; Yoshida Matsu gave her a few moments to do so. It wasn’t the first time.
“Walk around some” Yoshida Matsu told her, “It’ll help. Roll your shoulders and move your arms in circles, to work the blood back into your hands”
She did as she was told; fiery pinpricks waking up in her fingertips. She let her arms fall, flexing her fingers into claws, then her hands into fists for get the feeling back. She was walking in circles, shaking the cramps out of her legs. She must’ve looked pretty silly moving like that.
When she finally felt reasonably better, she stood in front of him, her boku-toh in hand.
“Sensei?” she murmured.
“Yes, Chotto?” She asked.
“When do I learn to fight?”
“When you learn to control your body.” He replied.
She frowned, looking up at him, “I can.”
“No. You only think you can, Chotto. You do not know how your body responds.”
She lifted her hand, turned it; made a fist. “Yes I do.”
He let out a slow breath, moving his left foot back, pulling up the Sung wood in a two handed grip. “Hit me.” He said.
She gave him a look confusion, “Sensei?”
“I said hit me, Chotto.” He repeated.
She raised her boku-toh in a mimicry of his stance… then made a quick rush, swinging… there was a quick clack of wood, a shock up her wrists, then a smart rap on her bottom. He’d already stepped out of the way as she went past. She grimaced, getting into what she thought was a fighting stance, but this time she didn’t charge. She took a quick step forward and there was another shock up her arms as her sword met his and with a quick wrist flip, her boku-toh was sailing through the air.
For the next two hours, she did her best to hit him, and she failed the entire time.
By the time she was done, she was panting with exertion, while Yoshida Matsu had barely broken a sweat.
“Discipline, Chotto.” He said, “Understand yourself. Understand how you move. Control. You must learn self-mastery. Once you learn self-mastery, you may master the world around you. Until then, you are a flailing child.”
She couldn’t even argue ,he proved that over and over.
“Come, Chotto, we will take a break for water.” They crossed the yard to the outbuilding and dipped clay mugs into a barrel filled with chilled water. Yoshida Matsu led her out into the courtyard and headed over to the inner Temple and took a seat on the stairs, Emmi sat down on the stair below him, her boku-toh across her lap.
“Do you have a name for it?” Yoshida Matsu asked suddenly. She was caught off guard by the casualness of the question. Usually, it was purely a Sensei/ pupil relationship.
“No. Should I?” She replied.
“It’s tradition” He informed her.
“Have you named your swords?” she asked, genuinely curious.
“Deathwand and Iceblade.” He replied.
“And that wooden sword?”
“Not yet.” He replied. “I have not thought about it. It will come to me.”
“How do you say… ‘punisher’ in your language?” She asked.
“Shobatsu-sha” He replied automatically.
“Then it shall be named Hobgoblin Shobatsu-sha” She informed him.
That brought a chuckle out of him, “Jen’ju’roh.” He said, still laughing.
“But you just said Shobatsu-sha.” She grumped.
“No, Chotto. In my language, we are called ‘Jen’ju’roh.’ So, your boku-toh would be named ‘Jen’ju’roh shobatsu-sha. “
“That’s a long name.” She reflected.
“Then may it serve it well.” There was a note of formality in his voice as he said it, and she wasn’t entirely sure if he approved or disapproved of the name, but he did not question.
"Jen’ju’roh shobatsu-sha” She echoed. “I like it.”
Days bled into weeks, and weeks bled into months, and months bled into years.
They danced.
In the stillness of her mind, that thought fluttered like a moth across her consciousness… her steps faltered, but her arms did not. It was almost as if Sensei Yoshida sensed her momentary distraction and pressed his attack. Their wooden swords were tan blurs, the staccato rhythm of their impacts echoing through the courtyard. The other students, even their Senseis, were watching the pair as they moved fluidly across the cobbles of the courtyard. Emmi was conscious of the sweat rolling down her back, into her face, hair plastered to her forehead. She was wearing a headband, and her hair was in pulled back in a tight ponytail to keep it from distracting her.
Yoshida Matsu had a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead and some dampness showing through his tunic, but she attributed it to the sun overhead more than any exertion on his part. She knew that he could end this at any time, if he chose.
She was steadily retreating, she really had no choice. Yoshida Matsu was a far better swordsman than she; as well he should be, as her Sensei. She kept backing up, sometimes moving to the left, sometimes moving to the right, rarely strait backward. (Sensei Yoshida stressed to always do the unpredictable, even in retreat). She was aware of her surroundings, and she knew the yard was clear, but she was also told over and over to always be aware of her footing. She trained for months on footwork alone. He arms felt leaden. The repeated impacts of the wooden swords sent shocks up her arms every time they impacted. She was digging deep and tiring fast. She knew she wasn’t going to last much longer. Sensei Yoshida knew it, as well. He wasn’t even breathing hard.
“Daijobudesu!, Watashi wa kofuku shimasu!” She called out. Yoshida Matsu pressed for another moment, then stopped, his two boku-toh held lightly in his hands. She didn’t let hers drop past guard position though, until his did. Even then, she was half ready for a possible strike. She bowed to him, and he returned the bow.
“You’re getting much better, Chotto.” Yoshida praised. For him, that was high praise indeed. She knew he was quick to point out her errors, and that she paid for them; he wasn’t lavish with praise. In the three years that she’d been taught by him, he was never expressive with his praise, but he was supportive in his instruction and was always sincere when he did praise her.
They both tucked their wooden swords into their sashes and wordlessly made their way over to the well. Sensei Yoshida turned the crank to drop the bucket while Emmi leaned against the wall of the well, wiping the sweat off her brow with the sleeve of her tunic. The bucket came back up, and Yoshida Matsu proffered the cup to Emmi, who took it gratefully. She drank deeply, emptying the cup, before handing it back to him.
“Do you think you are ready, Chotto?” Sensei Yoshida asked, suddenly.
Emmi stopped, and thought about it. She felt she was, but she also knew that there was still much she needed to learn. Sensei Yoshida was a very good teacher; but he was also good at challenging her both mentally and physically. This is exactly the kind of mental test that he would devise.
“I think I have learned much.” She replied, “But I also think that there is much more to learn. I think that I am ready for what comes next.”
He turned his head slightly to study her. “I have spoken to Abbot Shinayn”
Emmi held her breath.
“We both believe you are ready.” He told her.
She felt her face flush with pride. She’d worked so hard, learned so much. It meant a lot to her to know that he felt she was ready for the next step.
“I am ready.” She replied.
He nodded, as if expecting no less. “Tonight, you will perform your vigil.” He told her.
Purification of body and spirit. Bathing and cleaning, then prayer until the sun rises. She’d be alone in the sanctum, and there, Kareevan would place his blessing upon her if she was worthy. There were those that were not found worthy and were rejected. She gnawed her bottom lip nervously. What if she was rejected? What then? She’d probably be turned out to fend for herself. She’d have enough training to competently defend herself, but where would she go to train further? Ever since she arrived at the temple, all she’d wanted was to become a Battle Saint, like Sensei Yoshida.
“I believe you will pass, Chotto,” He wasn’t looking at her anymore, but it was as if he could sense her own self-doubt. Sense it, and deny it.
“Thank you, Sensei.” She replied, “I will not fail you.”
He took a long drink from his cup before setting it down, “If you fail, you will be failing only yourself. Remember that.”
The rest of the day went uneventfully, or at least as uneventfully as one of her days went. There was still training to do, exercises, meditation, chores, and everything else in her daily routine. As the sun set, Yoshida Matsu walked with her to the Sanctum.
“You may not leave this place until you are Summoned, Chotto.” He instructed her.
“Yes, Sensei.” She replied.
“You know what is required of you.” It was not a question. The instructions on the Vigil had been drilled into her head by him on more than one occasion; they were something that every initiate was instructed in vigorously.
When she entered the Sanctum, he closed the door behind her. She glanced around. There were several candles arranged around the room, there were no chairs, no furniture; only a small altar to Kareevan. There was an archway on the east wall, which she stepped through. There was a gleaming copper tub that dominated the room, nearby there a large shelf with robes and scented oils which were to be used to prepare the bath. She pulled the two wooden swords out of her sash and leaned them in the corner.
She went over to the shelf and dabbed the various oils into the bath, creating a spicy, earthy scent in the air. Deliberately, she stripped off her tunic and trousers and settled into the bath. There was a soft cloth and fine sand to scrub away the day’s sweat and dirt from her body. Once she was done, she got out and put on the robe. It was made of coarse wool. It was rough and scratchy against her skin, but tonight’s vigil was not about comfort. She settled into the robe and then moved to the first room, kneeling on the floor while sitting on her heels. She took her symbol of Kareevan out and held it in her hands, blanking her mind. A few stray thoughts skittered across her consciousness, but she herded them up and set them to rest.
Her eyes closed, she drifted into a trance like meditative state.
Her mind felt as if it were expanding; her body an anchor; her spirit seemed to flow out of her. There was another here, larger than her. All encompassing. She was adrift on and in a sea of energy, energy that she felt that she could tap into; inviting her to. She did. She understood.
There was so, so much knowledge there; but she was only allowed a glimpse through the surface. She knew what she was being offered, and she Chose. The Battle Saints were priests, but they were priests that focused heavily on their sword arts; the divine energies that the wielded were sublime, the magic they could manipulate was limited; far more limited than their counterparts of other religions. They far excelled their contemporaries in the martial arts, however.
Emmi’s mind stayed in communion with the Other for seconds… or hours, she didn’t know. Time had no meaning in this place.
When she finally returned to herself, she was drained. Fatigue washed over her, but she fought that as fiercely as she fought her Sensei. It was another form of battle. Sensei Yoshida explained to her that all things were a battle, all decisions were conflicts to be borne and overcome.
She stifled a yawn, ignoring the cramping of her muscles, the ache in her feet. New knowledge was in her thoughts; divine insights to aid her in battle. She studied them, understood instinctively their use, and how to unleash them when needed.
Sometime later, the door opened. Slowly she got to her feet, her muscles protesting the sudden movement. She turned, and in the doorway stood Sensei Yoshida. His face was stern, but that was nothing new; his eyes shown with pride.
“Come, Chotto.” He said. “You may leave your things. They will be collected and brought to your room.”
“Hai, Sensei.” She said, following.
They crossed the courtyard and entered the temple. In the chapel were collected the Initiates as well as the Clerics proper, all waiting for the recognition of the newest member of the Order. By the altar at the other end of the chamber stood Abbot Shinayn. In her hands she cradled a pair of long, single edged swords.
Emmi approached her, Sensei Yoshida stayed by her right hand.
“Who approaches?” About Shinayn intoned formally.
“Emilynn Yoshida.” Emmi replied steadily. She could nearly feel the surprise radiating from Sensei Yoshida. The Abbot smothered her own momentary shock neatly, as if she expected no less.
“Emilynn Yoshida,” The Abbot continued, “Do you promise to serve faithfully, to uphold the tenants of the Order, and to bring honor to the Name of our god and your brothers and sisters?”
“I so promise.” Emmi replied.
“Stand, sister Yoshida.” The Abbot instructed her. Emmi did. The Abbot handed Emmi the two swords she carried.
“Welcome to the Order of Battle Saints, Emilynn Yoshida.”
There was a rustle of cloth as swords, both steel and wooden, were drawn in silent salute. As she strode from the temple, the swords were sheathed at her passing. She stepped out into the cool morning air, Yoshida Matsu by her side.
“You honor me.” He said, without preamble.
“You were a better parent to me in the past three years than anyone else had ever been in the fifteen years before.” Emmi replied.
He snorted, but he didn’t exactly disagree with her assessment. She knew he had no children of his own. She knew his wife had passed away. She had learned much about him in the past three years, simply by listening. Yoshida Matsu was a legend, of sorts. While not the highest ranking Battle Saint in the Abbey, stories of his ‘adventures’ circulated readily enough.
“You have objections?” She asked quietly.
He was silent for a minute, but that was his way. He often thought about his answers in important matters. “No.” he replied finally, “I believe you will bring honor to the name.”
Then, uncharacteristically, he laughed. “I also believe that House Yoshida would be surprised to find they have a member that is not Jen’ju’roh”
Days later, she still couldn’t believe she was a Sister in the Order of the Battle Saints. She still smiled when she thought about it, even though Sensei Yoshida would probably make a comment on Pride being a downfall… even though she knew that he was proud of her. It meant a lot to her, honestly. She was a full sister, but she still considered him her Sensei. She probably always would, no matter how far she advanced. He had given her a chance to rise far above her birth, and she could never repay him that chance.
These thoughts wandered across the outside of her consciousness as she flowed through the forms of her sword katas, moving from one stance to the next with precision. These were more footwork exercises than anything else, and she flowed across the cobbles like a dancer. Her blades were a part of her, extensions of her will.
“Yameru!” Sensei Yoshida barked. She stopped as commanded, holding the last form she flowed into.
“You are distracted, Chotto.” Sensei Yoshida observed, “Your mind, it is not clear.”
“No, Sensei.” She replied, a bit shamefaced. She wasn’t Jen’ju’roh, but over the past three years he’d drilled his code of honor into her, and sometimes she reacted to things that might not bother another.
There was a slight tightening at the corner of his mouth; in any other, this would be a grin. Yoshida Matsu was not one for displays of emotion, but she certainly knew how to read him by now. He had one of his wooden practice swords in his hand, and began to use it to tap her leg, her arm, to move them more in position as he circled her. He grunted in satisfaction.
Sensei Yoshida stood in front of her, taking his boku-toh in a two handed grip. “Soshite hajimeru!”
At the command, she dropped her blades low and began to circle him, his position shifting to face her… she feinted and attacked, the wooden sword blocking her slash… she made a few more tentative attempts, and then launched in earnest. Her blades spun and flashed, his sword of Sung wood intercepting each and every attack she sent his way, causing her steel to ring. The Sung wood was as strong as any metal blade. There was concentration on his face, she was fairly quick; but he was quicker still. His sword turned away her blades time after time.
Her face was a mask of determination, his impassive. There were no thoughts in her head, only the oneness that she felt with an adversary; there was a peace that one could achieve when in the middle of battle, and it was in the peace that the Battle Saint thrived.
Suddenly, Sensei Yoshida caught one of her blades and rolled his wrists, catching her off guard and causing the sword to arc away from her with a clatter on the cobblestones several yards away.
She took her remaining sword in both hands and went all out, he changed his grip, taking his blade in his left hand and gave ground, sidestepping her lunge to bring the edge of the blade to the back of her neck. She froze. With a flick of his wrist, he brought the wooden edge under her chin.
“I know.” She said in exasperation, “I’m dead.”
He lowered the sword and tucked it into his sash. “Every day you improve, Chotto.”
“Thank you, Sensei.” She replied with a grin.
“Chotto.”
“Yes, Sensei?”
“Have you given any thought to going on an expedition?” Sensei Yoshida asked, with his typical seriousness.
“I have, Sensei.” She replied honestly, “Although I have not really found anything as of yet.”
He nodded, “Come, Chotto.” He turned and together, they crossed the yard and entered the temple. They made their way through the chapel to the rear rooms and up a flight of stairs. Emmi had never been up on this level. She knew that this level was mostly for the Abbot and certain higher ranking Brothers and Sisters. As far as she knew, that didn’t include Sensei Yoshida.
The entered into a fair sized room that had a thick, heavy carpet. There were pillows strewn about here and there, and several bookshelves lined with books. More books than she’d ever seen. Against the far was sat a small altar to Kareevan. Sitting by it, cross-legged, was Abbot Shinayn.
Sensei Yoshida bowed slightly to her, then went to his knees and sat on his heels; Emmi followed suit.
“Brother Yoshida. Sister Emilynn.” The Abbot said by way of greeting. “What brings you here?”
“I have been thinking.” Yoshida Matsu began, “That Sister Emilynn needs to hone her skills in the real word.”
The Abbot’s green eyes fixed on Emmi. “Do you also feel this way, Sister?”
Emmi swallowed nervously, then nodded. “Hai, Sensei.”
The Abbot gave her a wry look, then turned her attention back to Yoshida Matsu. “Did you have to ingrain so much of your own self on her?” There was humor in her voice when she asked it, and a little exasperation.
Yoshida Matsu shrugged eloquently.
“What did you have in mind?” The Abbot asked.
“The Abbey at Killenshire.” He replied.
The Abbot frowned in thought, looking from Emmi to Yoshida Matsu then back again. “What do you propose?”
He shrugged again, “A handbill on the town board, calling for adventurers.” He said, “It’s cost effective and it will allow Sister Emilynn the chance to prove herself. We have no other newly Ordained Battle Saints, and there’s no telling what’s at the Abbey. With accompaniment, it should be safe enough. And she needs the exposure.”
She blinked in surprise, “You’re not going?”
Yoshida Matsu shook his head, “No. This is something you must do without me. Not to prove your worth to me, but to prove it to yourself.”
“Adventurers expect payment.” The Abbot pointed out.
“And they will receive payment.” Yoshida Matsu replied, “In the form of whatever is being carried by the creatures that now inhabit the old abbey. We have funds on hand. We can offer a small amount of coinage to each to further entice fledgling adventurers to join the cause.”
The Abbot nodded. “Then do so. Write up the handbill, offer… two hundred gold to each adventurer that agrees to join; and promise of whatever gains they get from those they defeat in the abbey. Give it three days, and then see who we’ve pulled together.”
Yoshida Matsu nodded and stood, Emmi following him out the door. Her mind was racing. She’d never even been out of the town that she could remember. Leaving? She could hardly believe it, but this was something she could not back down from. She needed this for herself, to prove that she was more than just good at sparring and remembering katas. She had to know her training could keep her alive.
She was nervous, and she was excited.
His eyes made out the outline of a figure approaching, and he blinked and did a double take. The sun wasn’t yet up, and already there were travelers on the road. He reached over, picking up his iron shod club that was part of his accoutrements as a town guard. He left the crossbow in the gatehouse. Hagen noticed the older man picking up his club, and clumsily reached for his out.
“Traveler” Gunnar grunted. Hagen nodded, and swallowed nervously. The two stepped out in the rain, immediately hearing the patter as in hit their rimed helms.
The figure was in loose fitted clothing, gathered at his waist with a sash, and both his wrists and ankles; much like a monk’s garb. He wore a long hooded cloak, the hood was down, and he noticed that the rain beaded up and rolled of the cloak like water off a duck’s back. The figure wore a round, hat made of what looked like steel, angling up from the rim to a peak at the center, and it was tied on with a string that was knotted under the figure’s chin. A long braid snaked out from under the hat, over the figures shoulder, with what looked like round weights braided into the end. Two sword hilts poked over the right shoulder of the figure, and at his left side was a rucksack that was probably hung over his shoulder. In the figure’s hand was a black walking stick that was almost 4 feet long. The figure itself stood over half as much taller. Displayed on the figure’s chest, hanging from a chain was the Haloed Sword of Kareevan, Prince of Swords.
A cleric, then. The figure came to a stop as Gunnar and Hagen approached, stopping some ten feet from the figure. Gunnar gripped the handle of his club reflexively.
The rim of the hat tilted up, to show the traveler’s face... and Gunnar sucked in a breath. The traveler’s face was rugged, with swarthy skin, his wide, flat nose tinged blue. His right eye was bright yellow, the left eye a deep, rich brown. It was a hobgoblin.
Gunnar hawked and spat “Filthy buggers” and then he realized he said it out loud. Hagen gasped, turning white as snow.
The traveler’s eyes went flat, devoid of emotion, and Gunnar sincerely thought that today was his last day. The hobgoblin’s gaze flicked from Gunnar to Hagen, then back/ “I wish entry” it said, after a long pause.
“Entry is barred until the sun rises” Gunnar replied automatically. That was the law. No one in or out unless the sun was up. Hagen was nodding, in case the traveler did not believe.
“Then I’ll wait.” The hobgoblin’s voice was the sound of gravel underfoot, crunching and shifting, stone against stone.
Gunnar was trying to think of a good reason to deny the hobgoblin entry, but he was also a priest of Kareevan, a sword saint. There was a temple in the square, he could find no reason. The three stood, two facing one, in the rain.
Suddenly, the boy cleared his throat. “We have mulled wine, in the gatehouse.”
The hobgoblin raised a brow, glancing to Gunnar, whom shrugged. The offer was made, he couldn’t think of a reason to deny it. The boy led the way, Gunnar at the hobgoblin’s side. The three stepped into the gatehouse, which was cramped for three, especially with someone the hobgoblin’s size. Gunnar wasn’t exactly small, himself, reaching an age where thickness was settling around his waist. Hagen handed the hobgoblin a pewter mug and poured. The hobgoblin tucked the walking stick into the crook of his arm and took the cup in both hands, warming them against eh metal. He held the cup under his nose and inhaled. Hagen poured cups for himself as well as Gunnar. The three sipped in silence, until the priest spoke.
“Clove.” He said. “Some kind of mint? Bogpepper?”
“Yes, yes, and yes” Hagen replied, clearly pleased the priest recognized the flavors. Emboldened, he nodded to the Priest’s walking stick.
“That’s a very nice walking stick you have there.” He admired, “Sure would like to get me one of those”
Gunnar noted the wood was black, with red striations like veins running up and down the length. The wood was smooth, with a rounded edge running up all but ten inches of one side, ending in a beveled edge.
The hobgoblin’s gaze unfocused for a moment. “Travel through the forests of Ila-na-Fey, and blunder into the territory of Vesve…” He snorted then continued, “Run afoul of one of their Druids. A Druid that Sung the heartwood from a lightning stuck Treant and Shaped it into a sword.” He took a long sip, “He said the Treant’s name was the sound of leaves in a spring breeze, falling upon the eddies of a spring fed pond… I liked that Druid. He was straight-forward and an honorable opponent.”
The Priest’s gaze snapped back, looking directly at Hagen. “I did not relish killing him.” He paused a moment, gesturing toward the gatehouse arch. “Sun’s up.”
His name was Yoshida Matsu. Priest of Kareevan.
There were other names for his Order… Battle Saints. Sword Saints. Blade Priests.
Kareevan was the God of Skill at Arms, the Prince of Swords; and he required all of his priests to reflect this aspect. They were world renown and universally respected.
Yoshida was allowed through the gate, as he knew he would be, making his way through the ankle deep mud.
[I’m glad I didn’t wear my tabi boots] he thought to himself sourly. His stomach grumbled in protest; he hadn’t eaten since the night before. Luckily, he’d been accosted by bandits on the road who thought they’d test themselves against a Sword Saint. It had been a while since he’d had this much money on him, not that they had much to speak of. He glanced around, spotting what looked to be an Inn. The sign over the door said, “The Sleepy Rooster” The building itself was on a stone foundation, raised about two feet off the ground. There was a wide porch on the front with a few chairs and a roof to protect from the elements. Yoshida Matsu thought the place was an excellent choice. He mounted the four steps, stopping at the top to kick of his sandals and take off his oilskin cloak, shaking the excess water out of it. He reached up and undid the knot that held on his jingasa, the conical steel hat with the wide brim.
In his culture it was believed to be unlucky to enter a building for the first time with one’s head uncovered, so that the spirits within could see who it was, and not play tricks.
Yoshida Matsu pushed the door open and stepped through. The light was dim, but he could see fine. The place was empty except for a heavyset man behind the long bar, idly wiping it down. And an equally heavy woman tending to a pot over the fire in the hearth. The man was balding, with a full beard, his apron spotted and stained. The woman was nearly as heavy as the man, with rosy cheeks, long hair in a braid.
“We’re closed” the man says, without looking up.
Yoshida Matsu places the jingasa back on his head, tying it under his chin. When he reaches the bar, he dips a hand into the sash around his waist and fishes out a coin, looking at it. It was an Essolan half-crown. He flipped the con onto the bar.
The man glanced at the coin, placed his hand on it, and slid it off the edge and into his pocket, then looked up and his eyes widened.
“What do you have?” Yoshida Matsu asked. It looked as if the man was going to return the coin, but he already accepted it. That Yoshida Matsu was a priest of Kareevan is probably what changed his mind.
“Hen’s eggs. Bacon. Fresh baked bread. Sour cheese.” He replied. “Some chicken stew and dumpling from last night.” He added.
“Yes.” Yoshida Matsu replied.
“Yes?” the bartender echoed in confusion.
“To all.”
The bartender blinked several times, then motioned to the woman at the pot. She got up, hurried into the back room, moments later, a slim girl came out from the back room, Yoshida Matsu guessing her to be around 15 years old; taking the place of the woman at the pot, stirring the contents.
Yoshida Matsu chose a spot to the rear of the room, and sat down with his back to the wall, facing the door. It was something that was habitual now, and it was a habit that had saved his life many, many times.
After a short wait, the woman showed her face in the doorway, “Emmi, come here!” The girl obeyed quickly, dusking into the back room, coming out, loaded with plates. She set them in front of Yoshida Matsu; three fried eggs, a generous slab of bread with butter, a wedge of cheese, a chunk of bacon, and a bowl with hearty chicken stew that had chunks of chicken, potatoes, carrots, and onions atop which sat a few biscuits.
As the girl turned away, he called to her. “Chotto on’nanoko”
The girl turned at the sound of his voice, “My name’s not Chotto” she said.
There was a small upturning of his lips in good humor. He reached into a sash, pulling out a silver penny, handing it to her. “Arigatogozaimashita” he said. “That means, Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, ser… but my name’s Emmi. Not Chotto”. She bounced away happily.
He dug in.
The trio were moving about the Inn, preparing for the inevitable arrival of their guests for the breaking of their fast.
The food was very good, the biscuits hard, but manageable if dipped in the stew. He had finished everything but the stew, when three men entered the Inn.
Humans all, his eyes skimming over them. He noted several telltale bulges of small, hidden weapons. The apparently leader was sandy haired, with a cocky strut and lithe grace. The two behind him were of the same relative size, but they didn’t seem to have the same natural grace of their leader.
[Not my business] he thought to himself. He was here for a meal, and nothing else. He bit down and chewed.
“Kennit” The leader said, speaking to the bartender.
“Rance”, Kennit replied, sweat breaking out on his forehead.
“Pay day.” Rance announced.
“Rance… tonight, I can pay you tonight” Kennit was nearly stammering.
[None of my business.] Yoshida Matsu thought to himself, this time a little sterner.
“Kennit, Kennit, Kennit..” Rance should his head in mock sadness, “You said you’d pay this morning… well, it’s morning.”
“I don’t have all of it, Rance, I didn’t make enough” The heavy man seemed desperate.
“Maybe we can take the balance owed out of the girl, yes?” That was from one of Rance’s companions.
Yoshida Matsu’s face hardened, the unfinished biscuit dropping into the stew.. [Now. Now it is my business.] He pushed back from the table, making certain that the chair scraped heavily against the wood floor. All eyes turned his way. He stood up, Sung wood in his fist. He strode over to the group of toughs casually, as if he was bored. The three eyed him carefully, and Yoshida Matsu knew they saw the Haloed Sword on his chest. When we was within five feet, he lifted his chin, meeting the gaze of Rance. The expression on Yoshida Matsu’s face was bland boredom.
“You will leave.” He said. “Now.” His voice was the sound of crushed gravel.
“Once Kennit and I…” He never got a chance to finish what he said.
A quick flick of his wrist and the Sung wood crashed into the side of Rance’s head. He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
Yoshida Matsu’s expression never changed. He glanced from one backup tough to the other, he angled the Sung wood up, pointing it at one then the other. “As of now” he grated, “the righteous blade of Kareevan’s fury hangs over this place; anyone … and I mean anyone, that offers violence to anyone who lives under this roof…” he swung the Sung wood down sharply. Once he was sure the message sunk in, he turned and went back to his table, as he did, his voice was loud in the silence “And take him with you.”
Yoshida Matsu sat back down as if nothing happened, finishing his breakfast.
Once finished, he got up and headed to the door then paused, a sudden thought hitting him. He turned to look at the girl, “Chotto. You will meet me at the Temple of Kareevan. One hour.”
“But she’s needed here!” Kennit protested.
Yoshida Matsu pointed the Sung wood in his direction, wordlessly, then made a violent downward chopping motion.
Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at the Temple, kicking his sandals off before he entered, but he left the jingasa on.
Yoshida Matsu was walking through the chapel when he heard a booming voice.
“YOSHIDA MATSU. SNIVELLING CUR. GIVE ME ONE REASON WHY I SHOULDN’T CUT YOU FROM NAVEL TO NECK AND DANCE ON YOUR INNARDS!” The voice echoed throughout the chapel, stopping Yoshida Matsu in his tracks, causing him to turn in place.
The man whose voice echoed through the chapel wasn’t nearly as big as his voice. Five ten at the most, 150 pounds soaking wet with rocks in his pockets, Mingan Nandera had earthy brown eyes, swarthy skin, and a mop of black curly hair. He was small, but he was quick. Yoshida Matsu knew that Mingan was nearly as quick as himself.
“Because I brought you a present.” Yoshida Matsu replied.
He glanced at the Sun wood in his hand, and his eyebrows shot up.
“Not that, baka.” Yoshida Matsu replied. “You are now the proud patron of the Sleepy Rooster. It is under your protection.”
His shoulders slumped, his head sagging, “I hate you.” He growled.
“But baka, you might get free mead out of the situation.”
At that, his head came up and he smiled. “This is true.”
Emmi left the Inn under the sullen stares of her aunt and uncle, but in a way, she was happy to leave. While it’s true they took her in after the death of her parents, she was treated like nothing more than a slave, fed sparingly, allowed a pallet in the kitchen near the fire, and she worked from before dawn to long into the night. Still, she had a roof over her head and food in her stomach, and for that she was grateful.
She knew where the Temple was, she’d seen it the few times she got to explore the city. It was a large building, squarish, without the typical adornment of many of the other temples in town; the one exception was a large depiction of the haloed sword of Kareevan carved into the granite of the building.
She approached, the heavy doors closed, looking around. The man, the HOBGOBLIN… wasn’t there. He made her nervous. All the stories she’d ever heard of their kind made them sound violent and unpredictable, bloodthirsty killers without mercy; but that didn’t seem the case with this one. He was quiet, he seemed fairly respectful. He did give that man a crack upside the head, but only after he threatened Uncle Kennit. But it was only one blow with a wooden sword. He’d seen men do far worse to other men.
He said to meet her in an hour, but he wasn’t here. Maybe he was having a joke with her. She frowned. She didn’t like that. Adults never took her seriously. She stared at the door for a long moment before coming to a decision. With a deep breath, she pushed it open. For its size, the door opened far easier than she thought it would. There was a small mud room, beyond it was a large chapel. Standing in the middle of the chapel was the hobgoblin, with a man standing next to him. The two seemed deep in conversation, unaware she even entered. Irritated, she cleared her throat loudly and immediately regretted it. Both sets of eyes turned to stare at her. The man was short, not much taller than her, really, with sun darkened skin and curly brown hair. The two were dressed alike, with loose fitting clothes gathered at the waist, ankles, and wrists. Both wore the Haloed Sword of Kareevan.
“I’m sorry, child.” The man said, “Are you lost?”
She shook her head in reply, pointing at the hobgoblin, “He told me to come.”
There was a look of surprise on his face as he looked up at his taller companion.
“You’re late.” He growled.
“You weren’t outside.” She replied, defensively. “I looked and waited.”
“I did not tell you to wait outside. I told you to meet me here.” He informed her.
She frowned, as if trying to find something wrong with what she said.
“Be nice, Yoshi.” The man said. “Have you no idea how to speak to children?”
“It’s hard to speak to children when I’m eating them.” The Hobgoblin replied, “It’s not polite to talk with your mouth full.”
Emmi suddenly quailed, envisioning herself being cooked and eaten by this monster.
The curly haired man gave the hobgoblin a sideways glance, “You’re scaring her, Yoshi.”
“Good” he replied. “She should be”. He took several steps toward her, standing no more than five feet away.
“Are you afraid?” he asked her.
“No.” she replied, a bit too quickly.
That wooden stick he used to crack that other man’s head came up and caught her solidly on the hip. “I asked you if you’re afraid.”
“No” She repeated.
Again the stick came up and caught her on the hip. It really smarted. The curly haired man looked over at the hobgoblin, “Yoshi.. be easy.”
“Are. You. Afraid?” he asked a third time.
“NO.” She almost yelled. “I’ve not afraid of you, Yoshi!”
The hobgoblin took one more step closer, looming over her, taller than by over a foot.
“Chotto” He growled in the crushed0gravel voice of his, “My name is Yoshida Matsu, of House Yoshida, Fifth House of Najano. I am fully Priest of the Order of Battle Saints. I have killed more men and women that I could possibly count, and you, Chotto, you will refer to me as ‘Sensei’, do you understand?”
She blanched as he began to speak, standing rooted to the spot, her fear was in the pit of her stomach and in the tingling of her knees, but she met his mismatched stare and stood her ground. “If I wanted to be beaten and yelled at, I could’ve stayed at the Inn with my aunt and uncle!”
He spun the sword in his hand once, and she winced at the blow that she knew was coming; but didn’t. “Listen. Hear me well. I will beat you. Probably every day, but I will beat you in combat. I will leave you bruised, possibly bloodied. But I will wait until you stand so that I may do it some more. I will test your limits, and I will break you if I must. Understand this, I will take those broken pieces, and I will build you back up, and I will put you back together, so that you will ever be at the mercy of those stronger than you. You may learn to hate me, as I learned to hate my master; but you will also learn to love me, as I have learned to love my master”
He turned, walking farther into the temple. “Follow me, Chotto.” She followed, the curly haired man following in their wake, clearly intrigued, as if he’d never seen this side of his friend before.
Yoshida Matsu stopped in front of a door, motioning to it. “This is your cell. It is not a prison, but a way to freedom. If you wish to learn. You will be brought a change of clothes.” He gestured to the ragged clothing she wore, “Those will be burned. You will receive a boku-toh. A wooden sword. You will carry it with you at all times. Do you understand?”
Emmi nodded, slightly in shock.
“You will respond.” He instructed her.
“Yes’ She replied
The stick came up again, “Yes, Sensei.”
“Yes, Sensei.” She echoed.
“Good.” He nodded. “You will eat 3 times a day. Once at 6th bell. Once at 12th bell, once and 18th bell. The rest of your day will be torment, layered upon suffering, sprinkled with exhaustion”
“At least I’ll be able to eat twice more a day…” She murmured.
The stick came up and caught her again. She winced, knowing she’d be limping tomorrow.
“You will only speak when asked a direct question.” He informed her.
“Yes Sensei” She replied. She wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of this, but there seemed little choice.
“Chotto.” Yoshida Matsu said.
“Yes, Sensei?” She asked.
“There is no shame in feeling fear. Fear is what drives us and motivates us to do what we do. The shame in fear, Chotto, is allowing it to make our decisions for us.”
Emmi woke up with the moment of disorientation you feel when it’s the first time you wake up in a new place. She blinked away the sleep, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light of the brazier burning low in the corner, a bag of charcoal nearby. She sat up blearily, running both hands over her face. She glanced around her cell. It was five feet wide and ten feet long, with a pallet pushed up against one wall, the head against the room’s corner. In one corner was the brazier, in another corner a basket with several sets of clothes; all were made of wool, some light, some heavy, all the same color brown. In the last corner was her waste pail.
Around her neck was a leather thong that held an iron symbol of Kareevan, the Haloed Sword. Leaning against the wall was her boku-toh.
She got dressed in one of her heavy wool outfits, noticing that on the ankles and wrists were strips of inch wide material and hung about ten inches from the cuff. She pulled a sash out of the basket and tied it around her waist, picked up her sword, then sat cross-legged on the pallet, sword across her thighs.
About half an hour later, the door opened. Yoshida Matsu stood in the doorway, with a pail of water in his hands. “You’re up. Good.” He said approvingly.
She shrugged, “I’m used to getting up this early, back when I lived at the Inn.”. That’s when the bucket of water hit her flush, leaving her coughing and spluttering, cold water soaking her to the skin. “What was that for!?”
“You forgot to call me Sensei.” He replied. “Be glad I don’t throw the bucket at you, as well.” He was serious. She knew it. She frowned and stood, sword in hand.
“Follow me, Chotto.” He told her. She stuck her tongue out at his back, but she followed.
They left the living chambers and went out into the courtyard. It was fairly large, and there was an elven woman whom seemed to be instructing a group of students in basic drills.
There was a smack of wood at her thigh, she yelped, and rubbed it. “Pay attention, Chotto.”
Standing in front of her, he bent kicked off his sandals and stood on one leg, the arch of his foot resting on the knee of his standing leg. He took his wooden boku-toh in two hands, holding it over his head as if defending a downward blow, or preparing to unleash an overhead attack.
“This is Wading Crane” He told her. “You will assume this stance.”
It took her a few tries, but she did it. She wobbled often and had to catch herself.
“The trick, Chotto, is to stare at one point. This aids you in keeping your balance.”
She did as he told her, and found he was right. He walked around her in a slow circle, using the tip of his boku-toh to adjust her stance, lifting her elbows, pushing them forward.
“Maintain your stance.” He instructed her.
“For how long?” She asked. His foot caught her in the back of the knee, causing her to crash to the ground, the tip of the Sung wood tapping prodding her. “Get up, Chotto. Do it again.” She did. This time, she didn’t ask for how long.
When he was satisfied of her stance, he moved behind her. She nearly lost her balance trying to following him wither her eyes.
“Stand still!” he snapped, and she obeyed. His fingers where in her hair, and for a moment, she didn’t realize he what he was doing, until she realized he was braiding her hair. He was pulling the braids tight, and she bit her lip at the discomfort. .
He finished braiding her hair without conversation, kneeling down on front of her about 8 feet away, sitting on his heels. He didn’t really seem to be paying attention to her, but she would bet that he was. She began to shake. Sweat popped out on her brow. Her arms ached, trembling.
She stood like that for an hour.
“Break.” He announced suddenly. She put her other foot down and let out an explosive breath, limping in circles to walk off the cramps in her legs.
Yoshida Matsu stood up. “Time to pray.” He announced. “Come.” He turned and headed to a small outdoor altar that was in the courtyard, and she noticed that the other teacher and her pupils were headed over there, as well. She glanced to Yoshida Matsu, then to the other teacher.
“Sensei?” She asked quietly.
“Yes, Chotto?”
“Don’t….” She seemed to be searching for words. “Don’t hobgoblins and elves not like each other?”
“She doesn’t like me very much.” He conceded.
“No, Sensei… I thought that elves and hobgoblins were mortal enemies.”
He nodded. “True. Yet Sensei Elethn knows that she and I are brother and sister in a family that transcends this reality”
“Transcends, Sensei?”
“Rises above, Chotto. The petty squabbles of race have no business here. She does not like me. But she trusts me with her life, and as well she should. I would lay down mine own for hers.”
“Sensei?” She asked.
“Yes, Chotto?”
“Would you do the same for me?”
He glanced down at her, “In time, Chotto. In time.”
They arrived at the shrine together, and he knelt, sitting on his heels. She mimicked him and he gave her a nod of approval.
“I’ve never prayed before” She said, more to herself than to anyone around her.
“Just say what is in your heart, Chotto.” He informed her.
She sat, thinking, then sent the thought out from her [Kareevan. Do I call you Kareevan? Sensei Kareevan?] She stopped and blushed, feeling herself an idiot. She grimaced and tried again. [Kareevan. I’ve never prayed to any god before, but you probably know that already. I’ve never really had much reason to. I feel I should thank you. Because I’ve been given an opportunity to have a better life. For the roof over my head. The clothes on my back] she gripped her boku-toh,
[and for the chance to be able to defend myself, and those like me.]
She opened her eyes and raised her head, not realizing she’d gripped her Haloed Sword. Yoshida Matsu’s eyes opened up moments later, then he stood up. She followed suit. “Come.” He told her. She followed.
They went into an outbuilding on the courtyard, where bowls of rice with a savory smelling gravy was ladled onto it. In the gravy were green vegetables and some kind of white tuber. Yoshida Matsu pulled out a pair of thin sticks that he pinched in a certain way to eat the food. She had a wooden spoon, much like the other pupils at the other table. She and Yoshida sat alone. He glanced up, noticed her studying the sticks. From inside his sash, he produced another pair and set them down in front of her. She picked them up, unsure how to use them. HE reached over, folding his hands over hers, showing her how to hold them correctly. She took an instant dislike to the tuber. That didn’t stop her from eating it all. It took her a while, because the sticks were hard to use. The other table cleared, but Yoshida waited patiently for her to finish.
oshida Matsu finally stood, beckoning her to follow. He led her back out into the courtyard, and came to a stop. “Wading Crane. The other leg, this time.” He instructed her. She did as she was told.
It was maybe another hour when the curly haired man crossed the courtyard to come over to Yoshida Matsu.
“Good morning, Yoshi.” He said.
“Good morning, Baka.” Yoshida Matsu replied.
“How’s she coming along?”
“She is capable of standing still under threat of imminent injury.” Yoshida Matsu answered.
“Aren’t we all?” He turned his attention to Emmi, “And what is your name, child?”
To her credit, her eyes remained focused on her chosen point of views, “Sensei Yoshida says that my name is Chotto until such a time he decides otherwise.” She told him, a hint of irritation creeping into her tone.
The curly haired man laughed, “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”
Emmi’s gaze shifted to him, “Should I call you Sensei Baka?” She asked.
Yoshida Matsu suddenly burst into laughter, the sound surprising Emmi enough to make her lose her balance and put her foot down, but she quickly recovered. Yoshida didn’t seem to notice; or care.
The curly haired man looked over at Yoshida Matsu with disgust, “No. My name is Taigh. Taigh IoPharan.”
Yoshida Matsu was wiping tears from his eyes, trying to recover.
Taigh’s look maintained a level of disgust. “Sensei Yoshida calls me Chisana Baka” he told her. “It means, ‘Little idiot”, or Baka for short”
Emmi couldn’t help herself, she started laughing.
Taigh shook his head, walking away.
Sometime later, after she got to switch legs and a short water break, another visitor came by. He was an older man, easily in his sixties, with an easy smile and the grace she’d already learned that marks every Battle Saint here. He had a boku-toh on him, as well as a pair of short, cured swords.
“Aisatsu, Sensei Yoshida-san.” He said, by way of greeting.
“Yoi gogo no masuta Havashir.” Yoshida Matsu replied.
“It has come to my attention that you’ve graduated to stealing children from their families” The tone was wry.
Yoshida Matsu raised the brow over his yellow eye, looking from Emmi to Havashir.
“You are free to leave, Chotto.” He told her.
She blinked, not really registering what was said to her. “Sensei?” She asked.
“If you wish, you may leave.” He informed her.
“No, Sensei.” She replied. She didn’t know why she said it, but she knew she meant it. The man called Havashir nodded once, as if satisfied.
She wasn’t standing on one leg anymore, and for a while, that was good. Now, she was at an angle, her hands on the ground, arms extended fully, her legs angled, her toes at a painful angle as the ball of her feet were bracing her. She was staring at the ground. If she was being honest with herself, she’d say she was staring at the puddle of sweat that was dripping off her nose and pooling on the ground.. It was warming up, but the sweat was from exertion, not the heat. She was sweating all over, and the wool was damp and itching like mad. Her teeth ached from gritting them. She wanted so badly to strip off her clothes and just be free of the irritation. She knew Yoshida Matsu was watching. He was not too far away, kneeling and sitting on his heels. He’d been like that as long as she was in what he called the “push-up” position. For a while he was having her lower herself to the ground and push herself back up, but now, she remained, arms extended, supporting her weight. She could feel the quivering. Her tows were cramped, as were her calves.
She lost track of how long she was there, she’d gave up on counting the drips of sweat that fell. Her hair was plastered to her face, only adding to her discomfort. She could hear the clatter of swords from the other pupils, and wanted to join them in swordplay. She knew that Yoshida Matsu would tell her no. She held her position.
“Chotto” At first, she didn’t realize what she was hearing. “Chotto” Yoshida Matsu repeated.
“Sensei?” It was a half question, half answer.
“You may stand” He instructed her.
She slowly levered herself up, her arms burning, and her feet barely holding her up from the cramps. She wanted to lean on her boku-toh, but she knew that Yoshida Matsu wouldn’t allow it. It took her a moment to straighten up; Yoshida Matsu gave her a few moments to do so. It wasn’t the first time.
“Walk around some” Yoshida Matsu told her, “It’ll help. Roll your shoulders and move your arms in circles, to work the blood back into your hands”
She did as she was told; fiery pinpricks waking up in her fingertips. She let her arms fall, flexing her fingers into claws, then her hands into fists for get the feeling back. She was walking in circles, shaking the cramps out of her legs. She must’ve looked pretty silly moving like that.
When she finally felt reasonably better, she stood in front of him, her boku-toh in hand.
“Sensei?” she murmured.
“Yes, Chotto?” She asked.
“When do I learn to fight?”
“When you learn to control your body.” He replied.
She frowned, looking up at him, “I can.”
“No. You only think you can, Chotto. You do not know how your body responds.”
She lifted her hand, turned it; made a fist. “Yes I do.”
He let out a slow breath, moving his left foot back, pulling up the Sung wood in a two handed grip. “Hit me.” He said.
She gave him a look confusion, “Sensei?”
“I said hit me, Chotto.” He repeated.
She raised her boku-toh in a mimicry of his stance… then made a quick rush, swinging… there was a quick clack of wood, a shock up her wrists, then a smart rap on her bottom. He’d already stepped out of the way as she went past. She grimaced, getting into what she thought was a fighting stance, but this time she didn’t charge. She took a quick step forward and there was another shock up her arms as her sword met his and with a quick wrist flip, her boku-toh was sailing through the air.
For the next two hours, she did her best to hit him, and she failed the entire time.
By the time she was done, she was panting with exertion, while Yoshida Matsu had barely broken a sweat.
“Discipline, Chotto.” He said, “Understand yourself. Understand how you move. Control. You must learn self-mastery. Once you learn self-mastery, you may master the world around you. Until then, you are a flailing child.”
She couldn’t even argue ,he proved that over and over.
“Come, Chotto, we will take a break for water.” They crossed the yard to the outbuilding and dipped clay mugs into a barrel filled with chilled water. Yoshida Matsu led her out into the courtyard and headed over to the inner Temple and took a seat on the stairs, Emmi sat down on the stair below him, her boku-toh across her lap.
“Do you have a name for it?” Yoshida Matsu asked suddenly. She was caught off guard by the casualness of the question. Usually, it was purely a Sensei/ pupil relationship.
“No. Should I?” She replied.
“It’s tradition” He informed her.
“Have you named your swords?” she asked, genuinely curious.
“Deathwand and Iceblade.” He replied.
“And that wooden sword?”
“Not yet.” He replied. “I have not thought about it. It will come to me.”
“How do you say… ‘punisher’ in your language?” She asked.
“Shobatsu-sha” He replied automatically.
“Then it shall be named Hobgoblin Shobatsu-sha” She informed him.
That brought a chuckle out of him, “Jen’ju’roh.” He said, still laughing.
“But you just said Shobatsu-sha.” She grumped.
“No, Chotto. In my language, we are called ‘Jen’ju’roh.’ So, your boku-toh would be named ‘Jen’ju’roh shobatsu-sha. “
“That’s a long name.” She reflected.
“Then may it serve it well.” There was a note of formality in his voice as he said it, and she wasn’t entirely sure if he approved or disapproved of the name, but he did not question.
"Jen’ju’roh shobatsu-sha” She echoed. “I like it.”
Days bled into weeks, and weeks bled into months, and months bled into years.
They danced.
In the stillness of her mind, that thought fluttered like a moth across her consciousness… her steps faltered, but her arms did not. It was almost as if Sensei Yoshida sensed her momentary distraction and pressed his attack. Their wooden swords were tan blurs, the staccato rhythm of their impacts echoing through the courtyard. The other students, even their Senseis, were watching the pair as they moved fluidly across the cobbles of the courtyard. Emmi was conscious of the sweat rolling down her back, into her face, hair plastered to her forehead. She was wearing a headband, and her hair was in pulled back in a tight ponytail to keep it from distracting her.
Yoshida Matsu had a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead and some dampness showing through his tunic, but she attributed it to the sun overhead more than any exertion on his part. She knew that he could end this at any time, if he chose.
She was steadily retreating, she really had no choice. Yoshida Matsu was a far better swordsman than she; as well he should be, as her Sensei. She kept backing up, sometimes moving to the left, sometimes moving to the right, rarely strait backward. (Sensei Yoshida stressed to always do the unpredictable, even in retreat). She was aware of her surroundings, and she knew the yard was clear, but she was also told over and over to always be aware of her footing. She trained for months on footwork alone. He arms felt leaden. The repeated impacts of the wooden swords sent shocks up her arms every time they impacted. She was digging deep and tiring fast. She knew she wasn’t going to last much longer. Sensei Yoshida knew it, as well. He wasn’t even breathing hard.
“Daijobudesu!, Watashi wa kofuku shimasu!” She called out. Yoshida Matsu pressed for another moment, then stopped, his two boku-toh held lightly in his hands. She didn’t let hers drop past guard position though, until his did. Even then, she was half ready for a possible strike. She bowed to him, and he returned the bow.
“You’re getting much better, Chotto.” Yoshida praised. For him, that was high praise indeed. She knew he was quick to point out her errors, and that she paid for them; he wasn’t lavish with praise. In the three years that she’d been taught by him, he was never expressive with his praise, but he was supportive in his instruction and was always sincere when he did praise her.
They both tucked their wooden swords into their sashes and wordlessly made their way over to the well. Sensei Yoshida turned the crank to drop the bucket while Emmi leaned against the wall of the well, wiping the sweat off her brow with the sleeve of her tunic. The bucket came back up, and Yoshida Matsu proffered the cup to Emmi, who took it gratefully. She drank deeply, emptying the cup, before handing it back to him.
“Do you think you are ready, Chotto?” Sensei Yoshida asked, suddenly.
Emmi stopped, and thought about it. She felt she was, but she also knew that there was still much she needed to learn. Sensei Yoshida was a very good teacher; but he was also good at challenging her both mentally and physically. This is exactly the kind of mental test that he would devise.
“I think I have learned much.” She replied, “But I also think that there is much more to learn. I think that I am ready for what comes next.”
He turned his head slightly to study her. “I have spoken to Abbot Shinayn”
Emmi held her breath.
“We both believe you are ready.” He told her.
She felt her face flush with pride. She’d worked so hard, learned so much. It meant a lot to her to know that he felt she was ready for the next step.
“I am ready.” She replied.
He nodded, as if expecting no less. “Tonight, you will perform your vigil.” He told her.
Purification of body and spirit. Bathing and cleaning, then prayer until the sun rises. She’d be alone in the sanctum, and there, Kareevan would place his blessing upon her if she was worthy. There were those that were not found worthy and were rejected. She gnawed her bottom lip nervously. What if she was rejected? What then? She’d probably be turned out to fend for herself. She’d have enough training to competently defend herself, but where would she go to train further? Ever since she arrived at the temple, all she’d wanted was to become a Battle Saint, like Sensei Yoshida.
“I believe you will pass, Chotto,” He wasn’t looking at her anymore, but it was as if he could sense her own self-doubt. Sense it, and deny it.
“Thank you, Sensei.” She replied, “I will not fail you.”
He took a long drink from his cup before setting it down, “If you fail, you will be failing only yourself. Remember that.”
The rest of the day went uneventfully, or at least as uneventfully as one of her days went. There was still training to do, exercises, meditation, chores, and everything else in her daily routine. As the sun set, Yoshida Matsu walked with her to the Sanctum.
“You may not leave this place until you are Summoned, Chotto.” He instructed her.
“Yes, Sensei.” She replied.
“You know what is required of you.” It was not a question. The instructions on the Vigil had been drilled into her head by him on more than one occasion; they were something that every initiate was instructed in vigorously.
When she entered the Sanctum, he closed the door behind her. She glanced around. There were several candles arranged around the room, there were no chairs, no furniture; only a small altar to Kareevan. There was an archway on the east wall, which she stepped through. There was a gleaming copper tub that dominated the room, nearby there a large shelf with robes and scented oils which were to be used to prepare the bath. She pulled the two wooden swords out of her sash and leaned them in the corner.
She went over to the shelf and dabbed the various oils into the bath, creating a spicy, earthy scent in the air. Deliberately, she stripped off her tunic and trousers and settled into the bath. There was a soft cloth and fine sand to scrub away the day’s sweat and dirt from her body. Once she was done, she got out and put on the robe. It was made of coarse wool. It was rough and scratchy against her skin, but tonight’s vigil was not about comfort. She settled into the robe and then moved to the first room, kneeling on the floor while sitting on her heels. She took her symbol of Kareevan out and held it in her hands, blanking her mind. A few stray thoughts skittered across her consciousness, but she herded them up and set them to rest.
Her eyes closed, she drifted into a trance like meditative state.
Her mind felt as if it were expanding; her body an anchor; her spirit seemed to flow out of her. There was another here, larger than her. All encompassing. She was adrift on and in a sea of energy, energy that she felt that she could tap into; inviting her to. She did. She understood.
There was so, so much knowledge there; but she was only allowed a glimpse through the surface. She knew what she was being offered, and she Chose. The Battle Saints were priests, but they were priests that focused heavily on their sword arts; the divine energies that the wielded were sublime, the magic they could manipulate was limited; far more limited than their counterparts of other religions. They far excelled their contemporaries in the martial arts, however.
Emmi’s mind stayed in communion with the Other for seconds… or hours, she didn’t know. Time had no meaning in this place.
When she finally returned to herself, she was drained. Fatigue washed over her, but she fought that as fiercely as she fought her Sensei. It was another form of battle. Sensei Yoshida explained to her that all things were a battle, all decisions were conflicts to be borne and overcome.
She stifled a yawn, ignoring the cramping of her muscles, the ache in her feet. New knowledge was in her thoughts; divine insights to aid her in battle. She studied them, understood instinctively their use, and how to unleash them when needed.
Sometime later, the door opened. Slowly she got to her feet, her muscles protesting the sudden movement. She turned, and in the doorway stood Sensei Yoshida. His face was stern, but that was nothing new; his eyes shown with pride.
“Come, Chotto.” He said. “You may leave your things. They will be collected and brought to your room.”
“Hai, Sensei.” She said, following.
They crossed the courtyard and entered the temple. In the chapel were collected the Initiates as well as the Clerics proper, all waiting for the recognition of the newest member of the Order. By the altar at the other end of the chamber stood Abbot Shinayn. In her hands she cradled a pair of long, single edged swords.
Emmi approached her, Sensei Yoshida stayed by her right hand.
“Who approaches?” About Shinayn intoned formally.
“Emilynn Yoshida.” Emmi replied steadily. She could nearly feel the surprise radiating from Sensei Yoshida. The Abbot smothered her own momentary shock neatly, as if she expected no less.
“Emilynn Yoshida,” The Abbot continued, “Do you promise to serve faithfully, to uphold the tenants of the Order, and to bring honor to the Name of our god and your brothers and sisters?”
“I so promise.” Emmi replied.
“Stand, sister Yoshida.” The Abbot instructed her. Emmi did. The Abbot handed Emmi the two swords she carried.
“Welcome to the Order of Battle Saints, Emilynn Yoshida.”
There was a rustle of cloth as swords, both steel and wooden, were drawn in silent salute. As she strode from the temple, the swords were sheathed at her passing. She stepped out into the cool morning air, Yoshida Matsu by her side.
“You honor me.” He said, without preamble.
“You were a better parent to me in the past three years than anyone else had ever been in the fifteen years before.” Emmi replied.
He snorted, but he didn’t exactly disagree with her assessment. She knew he had no children of his own. She knew his wife had passed away. She had learned much about him in the past three years, simply by listening. Yoshida Matsu was a legend, of sorts. While not the highest ranking Battle Saint in the Abbey, stories of his ‘adventures’ circulated readily enough.
“You have objections?” She asked quietly.
He was silent for a minute, but that was his way. He often thought about his answers in important matters. “No.” he replied finally, “I believe you will bring honor to the name.”
Then, uncharacteristically, he laughed. “I also believe that House Yoshida would be surprised to find they have a member that is not Jen’ju’roh”
Days later, she still couldn’t believe she was a Sister in the Order of the Battle Saints. She still smiled when she thought about it, even though Sensei Yoshida would probably make a comment on Pride being a downfall… even though she knew that he was proud of her. It meant a lot to her, honestly. She was a full sister, but she still considered him her Sensei. She probably always would, no matter how far she advanced. He had given her a chance to rise far above her birth, and she could never repay him that chance.
These thoughts wandered across the outside of her consciousness as she flowed through the forms of her sword katas, moving from one stance to the next with precision. These were more footwork exercises than anything else, and she flowed across the cobbles like a dancer. Her blades were a part of her, extensions of her will.
“Yameru!” Sensei Yoshida barked. She stopped as commanded, holding the last form she flowed into.
“You are distracted, Chotto.” Sensei Yoshida observed, “Your mind, it is not clear.”
“No, Sensei.” She replied, a bit shamefaced. She wasn’t Jen’ju’roh, but over the past three years he’d drilled his code of honor into her, and sometimes she reacted to things that might not bother another.
There was a slight tightening at the corner of his mouth; in any other, this would be a grin. Yoshida Matsu was not one for displays of emotion, but she certainly knew how to read him by now. He had one of his wooden practice swords in his hand, and began to use it to tap her leg, her arm, to move them more in position as he circled her. He grunted in satisfaction.
Sensei Yoshida stood in front of her, taking his boku-toh in a two handed grip. “Soshite hajimeru!”
At the command, she dropped her blades low and began to circle him, his position shifting to face her… she feinted and attacked, the wooden sword blocking her slash… she made a few more tentative attempts, and then launched in earnest. Her blades spun and flashed, his sword of Sung wood intercepting each and every attack she sent his way, causing her steel to ring. The Sung wood was as strong as any metal blade. There was concentration on his face, she was fairly quick; but he was quicker still. His sword turned away her blades time after time.
Her face was a mask of determination, his impassive. There were no thoughts in her head, only the oneness that she felt with an adversary; there was a peace that one could achieve when in the middle of battle, and it was in the peace that the Battle Saint thrived.
Suddenly, Sensei Yoshida caught one of her blades and rolled his wrists, catching her off guard and causing the sword to arc away from her with a clatter on the cobblestones several yards away.
She took her remaining sword in both hands and went all out, he changed his grip, taking his blade in his left hand and gave ground, sidestepping her lunge to bring the edge of the blade to the back of her neck. She froze. With a flick of his wrist, he brought the wooden edge under her chin.
“I know.” She said in exasperation, “I’m dead.”
He lowered the sword and tucked it into his sash. “Every day you improve, Chotto.”
“Thank you, Sensei.” She replied with a grin.
“Chotto.”
“Yes, Sensei?”
“Have you given any thought to going on an expedition?” Sensei Yoshida asked, with his typical seriousness.
“I have, Sensei.” She replied honestly, “Although I have not really found anything as of yet.”
He nodded, “Come, Chotto.” He turned and together, they crossed the yard and entered the temple. They made their way through the chapel to the rear rooms and up a flight of stairs. Emmi had never been up on this level. She knew that this level was mostly for the Abbot and certain higher ranking Brothers and Sisters. As far as she knew, that didn’t include Sensei Yoshida.
The entered into a fair sized room that had a thick, heavy carpet. There were pillows strewn about here and there, and several bookshelves lined with books. More books than she’d ever seen. Against the far was sat a small altar to Kareevan. Sitting by it, cross-legged, was Abbot Shinayn.
Sensei Yoshida bowed slightly to her, then went to his knees and sat on his heels; Emmi followed suit.
“Brother Yoshida. Sister Emilynn.” The Abbot said by way of greeting. “What brings you here?”
“I have been thinking.” Yoshida Matsu began, “That Sister Emilynn needs to hone her skills in the real word.”
The Abbot’s green eyes fixed on Emmi. “Do you also feel this way, Sister?”
Emmi swallowed nervously, then nodded. “Hai, Sensei.”
The Abbot gave her a wry look, then turned her attention back to Yoshida Matsu. “Did you have to ingrain so much of your own self on her?” There was humor in her voice when she asked it, and a little exasperation.
Yoshida Matsu shrugged eloquently.
“What did you have in mind?” The Abbot asked.
“The Abbey at Killenshire.” He replied.
The Abbot frowned in thought, looking from Emmi to Yoshida Matsu then back again. “What do you propose?”
He shrugged again, “A handbill on the town board, calling for adventurers.” He said, “It’s cost effective and it will allow Sister Emilynn the chance to prove herself. We have no other newly Ordained Battle Saints, and there’s no telling what’s at the Abbey. With accompaniment, it should be safe enough. And she needs the exposure.”
She blinked in surprise, “You’re not going?”
Yoshida Matsu shook his head, “No. This is something you must do without me. Not to prove your worth to me, but to prove it to yourself.”
“Adventurers expect payment.” The Abbot pointed out.
“And they will receive payment.” Yoshida Matsu replied, “In the form of whatever is being carried by the creatures that now inhabit the old abbey. We have funds on hand. We can offer a small amount of coinage to each to further entice fledgling adventurers to join the cause.”
The Abbot nodded. “Then do so. Write up the handbill, offer… two hundred gold to each adventurer that agrees to join; and promise of whatever gains they get from those they defeat in the abbey. Give it three days, and then see who we’ve pulled together.”
Yoshida Matsu nodded and stood, Emmi following him out the door. Her mind was racing. She’d never even been out of the town that she could remember. Leaving? She could hardly believe it, but this was something she could not back down from. She needed this for herself, to prove that she was more than just good at sparring and remembering katas. She had to know her training could keep her alive.
She was nervous, and she was excited.