They will die on the altar of belief because they have no ability to change. Be it addiction or nature, they could not stop the collapse. No one could.
-Stefan Variel, Strong Arm of the Blue River Tribe
Expectant eyes looked onto the hallowed circle of packed dirt. Rows of children on low granite benches held their breath as they waited for the monks of the Green Temple. Whether their families had vied for a position or they had been recruited, there was not one of them who did not hope to be selected for a position among the famous monastic fighters. Their clothing reflected their position and wealth and it was as varied as their skin color. The bright silks of one indicated his family was one of the Spice Island trading clans, the patterns indicating which family they belonged. Other children sat in doublets which indicated their families had purchased their position in the gathering. One or two children sat with hungry eyes, their clothes blending in with the dirt on their skin. One child, a girl of no more than seven, sat with a straight back and defiant air. Her clothing declared to the gathered children she was neither wealthy nor poor. Her traveling trousers and vest put her in some merchant’s family, though the company’s crest was not recognizable and therefore she was no one. Each group sat with each other, taking solace in the familiar. Her eyes ignored the gathering just as she ignored the tears which threatened to fall from her eyes.
Maria did not want to think about the circumstances which brought her here. She did not want to think about how her father had told her without ceremony she would train with the monks and succeed. It was for the good of the family, but logic was not a raft she could weather the storm of emotions which threatened to drown her at every moment. Anger fueled her and she clung to it.
The air crackled with the attention that only the young can provide. The benches themselves leaned forward with the power of their attention to the circle of packed dirt which they all faced. Years had smoothed the surface to a hard sheen. Stains of varying sizes dotted the surface, but each was unmistakably blood. Each ancient, darkened spot on the ground proved the reputation of the battlemasters, for it was said that one monk could hold against an army in a bottleneck. A student there could learn to turn his skin to iron and stop a heart with their palm.
A horn split the twilight with a single defiant note. Each child jumped in their seat and glanced around. Only one pair of angry eyes did not jump. Only one pair of eyes squinted against the noise and anticipation.
Monks entered from the sides of the packed testing ground. Their simple beige robes were only a shade lighter than the packed circle flowed around them like a laugh or a sigh. They began at the waist and were held in place by a wide belt. Each of the monks carried a weapon that matched their physique. The first monk on the right side swept the crowd with a hard gaze, daring each child watching to stand up or say something. Across his massive shoulders rested a sword larger than any two of the children put together. Without effort, the monk took everyone’s attention at the center of the ring. In one smooth motion, he rolled the sword off his shoulders and twirled it once before slammed the point down into the ground. Each one of the dozen monks followed his example with their weapons, though the monk which stood in the center had the largest of the swords. His voice rang through the entire amphitheater without any sort of amplification.
“You are well met, little ones.” His arms seemed to grow as they flexed on the handle of his sword, asking for anyone to challenge his greeting. “For how could you not be in the presence of Batlemasters? Who on this Continent and beyond has not seen the might of the Leviathan Sword and Axe?”
Little eyes grew wide at the mention of the famed weapons in front of them with the exception of one pair, which narrowed in suspicion. The boulder of a monk continued, “Through selection, be it recruitment or supplication, you have arrived. This is the Green Mountain Temple, and you will become students.” The monk’s voice rang over the children gathered and the echoes which returned carried a hint of laughter.
Several more monks carried in the largest log Maria had ever seen. Their muscles bunched together as they lifted the log to stand on two stumps which had been brought out as well. The gathering stared at the sheer size of the log and the sword the monk raised above his head. It was only Maria who noticed an old monk wheel out a squat wagon stuffed with brushes, brooms, buckets, and many items she could not place.
The largest monk, which was also the largest person she had ever seen, pulled her attention back to the foreground, “Attend me little ones. My name is Edmar Val Hart and through me you shall learn the Doctrine of Power!” Edmar brought the two-handed weapon down as every muscle stood out on his body in sharp relief. The log exploded downward and shards of wood bounced off the ground with enough force to cause the children to duck to avoid splinters the size of saplings.
The student monks of Edmar cheered loud enough to pierce the ringing of Maria ears. Edmar silenced them with a gesture, “Now who among you would like to do this? Of course you do! How could you not? Follow the Doctrine of Power and I will teach you. Follow me!”
Edmar gestured for the children to rise and many of them followed his movements with wide eyes. The burly monk began to lead them away before a voice cut in across the amphitheater.
“What good is power and strength if you have no control?” All the eyes watching the large monk whipped to the other side of the arena to where a new group of monks stood. Though they were not even half the size of the first group of monks, the moved like liquid across the ground, stepping over the shards of the log which had been demolished. It was only Maria who noticed the old monk beginning to sweep the shards of wood away.
“Ah! Brother Francis, you are well met this day! For how could you not be, I was just taking new students for the Doctrine of Power and you are welcome to join.” Edmar’s voice rang with a hollow laughter at the joke.
“Well, isn’t that quite a coincidence, I was about to make a similar offer to these children.” Francis turned to address the crowd, ignoring the man towering over him. “You could, if you were to throw your choice away, follow the Doctrine of Power. What my brother has failed to mention to you is the Green Temple does have this one doctrine, but rather three. The Doctrine of Power is indeed grounded in great strength, but ask yourself what good strength is if there is no control?” The composed monk’s ice blue eyes swept across the crowd. Some children looked away, some looked with disbelief, but only Maria sat with a defiant eye.
Francis continued, “I am Brother Francis. It is my duty to lead the Doctrine of Command.” The monk reached down and picked up a two-meter-long piece of wood and held it out for the children to see. “Using your might to smash a log might be helpful if you are attacked by Leshy whom agree to stand completely still, but what would happen if you were attacked by someone with a weapon?”
He flipped the piece of wood end over end away from himself toward the crowd. As the children leaned back to avoid the projectile, except Maria, Francis drew a long, thin sword and cut the piece of wood into seven parts before anyone could track his movement. With a flourish, he held his sword down and caught the wood in his left hand in a neat stack. The eyes which had grown wide at the first display went wider at the display of the second. Some of the children, most notably the ones from the mountain tribes of the north did not seem to me impressed. Maria thought it was painfully obvious that they only wanted to use and learn weapons similar to their parents. She looked around for the old monk who was sweeping and saw he was in the back of the arena picking up large pieces of wood and breaking them against the ground to create piles he could remove later.
Francis waited until all eyes were on him again, “You can certainly learn from the Doctrine of Power and learn to lift heavy things, or you can learn from the Doctrine of Command and hit your enemies’ weaknesses with precision.”
Edmar’s laugh was a rich bell across the gathering, “What weakness does strength have?”
“What good is strength without control?”
Edmar and Francis began to face each other with a type of body language which raised the tension of the entire gathering by several degrees.
“Brothers, let’s not fight in front of these find students. They have barely arrived and their situation does not cause for fear. They must decide for themselves, and we must respect their choices, no?”
Edmar turned with a smile, “Brother Devon, how good of you to come! You are well met.”
Devon bowed with a smooth motion, which revealed a long wooden staff strapped to his back “Edmar, I am always heartened to hear your mirth.”
“Yet you interrupt regardless,” Francis quipped. The children’s heads were moving back on forth in confusion at this new interruption.
“Yes, only because you warrant interruption.” Devon moved to stand between the two heads of their Doctrines. Where one held the power of a bear and the other the stillness of a snake, the third stood like a swaying tree, controlled but fluid. “You chide Edmar for not mentioning other Doctrines, yet you neglect to mention mine.” Devon turned to the gathered children, “They have asked you the purpose of strength and the purpose of control, but the mountain can erode over time and precision can be avoided if one can dance on the wind. My name is Brother Devon, and I shall teach you the Doctrine of Flux.”
At the end of his last sentence, he flipped up a long thin shard of wood with his foot toward Edmar, while at the same time bending backwards to flick Francis of the nose. Edmar’s massive forearms blocked the shard without effort, and Francis took a precise half step back to avoid Devon’s flick. The students of each of these Batllemasters erupted into chaos. The entire arena devolved into a melee with the greatest spectacle being the three heads of the Doctrines sparring. Edmar threw massive blows with his Leviathan Blade, which would cause Devon to vault over or duck with impossible movements assisted by his staff or they would cause Francis to redirect them with his shorter sword in small, precise movements. Devon would swing unpredictably and with a flexibility that seemed impossible, but Edmar would move and absorb the blows with his massive muscles while Francis would dodge with the minimum requirement of distance. Francis would return with lethal strikes that were blunted by Edmar’s strong interruptions or diffused by Devon’s ability to move with the strike, taking away it’s lethality.
The children were dumbstruck with awe and the sheer display of skill. They had a firsthand view of why people would pay large amounts of money to have a Battlemaster in their company. Shocking though it was, the muteness of the children gave way to cheers. They had instinctively divided themselves into groups and were cheering when their preferred monk struck a blow. Only one child did not cheer. Maria was not only the only female of the recruited children, she was also the only Empath. Her family had passed on the ability to sense the emotions of others. It was that ability, the resistance to participate, and the solitude of her situation which altered the pain and fear at her father’s decision into anger.
Once the cheers for each of the three monks reached as high as they would go, the monks stopped. They all bowed to one another, then faced the group. None of the teachers were injured, but the same could not be said of the students behind them. Though bloody, they were helping each other up without overt animosity.
“I am gladdened by the opportunity to exercise our skill against equal measure!” Edmar exclaimed to the other monks. Francis had a wry smile while Devon nodded affably.
“I think we have learned what we needed.” Francis said.
“Yes,” Devon agreed, “But now the time has come for as a mentioned, each student must choose for themselves.” Several of the kids stood, their choices already made, but Devon stopped them with a gesture, “know this, none of the Doctrines are easy. No one’s place is guaranteed. We have decided you have worth as a student, but this can only be answered by what is within your heart.” There was a long, silent moment. “Doctrine of Flux, with me!”
At that, Devon whipped around and strode off toward the buildings in the distance which seemed haphazardly placed on the mountainside. Many of the children looked around, but soon several broke off to follow. Maria watched as some of them tried to coerce their friends, or hesitate when they were the only one of their group heading off in that direction. They were not given much time to decide as Edmar stepped forward, “Be glad! For I am here and I will teach you how to be strength incarnate. Doctrine of Power, with me!” In a similar, somewhat less graceful motion, Edmar swung around and stomped off toward the buildings. Many more of the children followed him toward the building in the distance which comprised the compound of the Green Mountain Temple.
Francis took two steps to stand in the middle of the arena floor looking up at the remaining children. “You’ve made a wise choice, students. Doctrine of Command, with me.” In a precise turn, Francis moved toward the building with his students and new additions toward the buildings.
Only Maria remained, defiant and stubborn with all the power of her seven years on the Continent would allow. Lip trembling, she waited. On the arena floor. Only the old monk remained. He was occupied now with brushing sawdust over the blood. After that was done, he would sweep it up, through the broom over his shoulder into his cart, then pull out a cloth and begin polishing the floor until it was smooth. The only indication the dirt of the floor had been disrupted was the additional bloodstain.
He continued this was for some time, lifting larger pieces of wood, breaking smaller ones, spreading sawdust, sweeping, and polishing. Maria caught him glancing up at her from the corner of his eye. She would lean forward, but the old man would simply mutter something and go back to his task. This continued for two hours. Laughter drifted down the mountain from the temple. Maria could hear the sound to plates and mugs. Her imagination created a feast and her stomach demanded her attendance. Yet as strong as her hunger was, her anger at her abandonment was stronger. She refused to yield to the feelings swelling within her.
Finally, the old man was finished and the floor was as it was when the children had arrived. He began to wheel his cart off in the direction of the buildings, muttering about how there had better be potatoes when he got there. With one last glance of his shoulder he said to Maria, “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Saucy, she is. What do you think I mean by well?” The old man turned toward her letting go of his cart.
“I don’t know, so that’s why I said ‘well, what?’” Maria stood.
“Impertinent, she is. Well, you had better make your choice.” The old man turned away from her.
“I would make my choice if I knew all my choices.”
The old man cocked one of his eyebrows, “Weren’t you watching, weren’t you listening?”
“I was TOO listening.” Maria shouted.
“Angry, she is. You saw three choices, so choose.” The old man started to turn away again.
“I don’t want to.” Maria’s considerable maturity for her age was not perfect and she cracked. It could be described as a tantrum if she were younger, but she wanted to lash out at all the hurt, anger, and abandonment she had gone through and there was only one target.
She ran at the old man and tried to hit him, but her next view was of the night sky. The cold, clear air ran into her nostrils and restoked her ire. She tried to hit the old man again, but this time he stepped forward and her blow hit an iron wall, her next missed entirely as he flowed out of her way, and her last was redirected in such a way that her own weight betrayed her, and she tumbled to the ground.
Breathless, the old man’s face appeared in her view, “Spirited, she is. Why would attack an old man, why would you do this?”
Tears leaked from Maria’s eyes, “I don’t want to be here.”
“Ah, the truth at last.” The old man’s face softened and he helped her up.
“My father-“
“Yes, child. I know.” The old man pulled out a sweet-smelling bun wrapped in a cloth and handed it to Maria. She only hesitated a moment before devouring it. “You are here, however. You cannot leave. The Doctrines are quite clear. You must choose one.”
Maria visibly pulled herself together, “I will when I hear them all.”
“And why do you think you haven’t heard them all?”
“Because I haven’t heard yours.”
“Intuitive, she is.” The old man stood up and brushed his robes off. “I just clean the floors.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“What do you believe?” The old man planted his feet and faced her with more respect than her father ever gave her.
“I believe no one would have ever one that fight. They asked what good strength was without control, and what good control was without flexibility.”
The old man smiled. “Yes, and?”
“And no one bothered to ask what good flexibility was without strength. It’s a circle.”
The old man smiled wider. “And why does this matter?”
“Because they are all needed!” Maria’s temper began to flair.
The old man gestured for her to follow him as he returned to his cart. “It is not a circle, it’s a pyramid.”
Maria walked over to his cart with him, “What’s at the bottom?”
They began to walk towards the buildings where the sounds of the feast were in full effect. “Equivalence.”
“And is that your Doctrine?”
“No, I just clean the floors.” They walked together in silence for what seemed like a long time. The air grew more and more cold as Maria’s feet began to stumble from exhaustion. Only her will kept from unconsciousness. “Here we are.”
Maria looked up to see the building all the noise was coming from. The sliding doors slid on fur runners and warmth rushed out to meet her. She saw long tables running down the length of the low building. The noise from all the students stopped as they watched her and the old man enter. She saw the three heads of the Doctrines stand and bow at the her. No, not her. The old man. She eventually found her words, “Who are you?”
“HA! Who is he child? Hear me and be glad, he is the Battlemaster himself, whom has been called Iron Will and Unbreakable Fist and it seems he has chosen his student.” Edmar told the entire room but directed the words at Maria. “He is the leader of the Green Mountain Temple, but you may call him as we do. He is Big Brother.”
“Aren’t we devoted?” Big Brother waved a dismissive hand toward the bowing figures of the heads of the three doctrines. Edmar was still smiling, Devon was still ambivalent, and Francis was still frowning. Maria could detect no malice in their body postures, but she could not say the same from all the other students present. One in particular, a set of green eyes framed by dark eyebrows and a pale complexion, was just grasping the fact the girl he had ignored in favor of the Doctrine of Command was now going to be trained by Big Brother himself. The old monk continued as if he did not notice any of what Maria did, “Leader I may be, but understand I am a student, like you.”
“Consider my heart warmed and my pride comforted, Big Bro.” Edmar rocked with laughter.
“As you wish.” Big Brother let out a sigh and looked out over the gathered monks and new students. Long moments stretched between the warm wood rafters which sheltered the occupants from the beautiful coldness that only clean mountain air can provide. Maria felt as though poetic words of inspiration would flow from the mouth of the old monk, telling the students how long and arduous the road would be. Her empathic sense told her he felt pride and sorrow in equal measure, but no words came. Instead of saying anything, he leaned down and gestured for one of the students to hand him the dish of red cubes. He gestured for Maria to grab a dish of green peas and then he turned to leave the gathering.
As they left the room, Maria glanced at the gathering which had begun to go back to murmured conversation now spiced with the mystery of the old man and what his presence suggested. She got another sense that green eyes were trying to a hole in the back of her head, but when she glanced in the direction of the new student he was not looking at her. Coldness brought Maria back to the present and she realized she was following Big Brother to one of the other buildings nearby. In contrast to the warm open space of the communal dining hall, the house was cluttered, cold, and empty.
“Fire.”
“What?” Maria looked up to the old man.
“Questions are good, rhetoric is not. What do you mean what?” Big Brother smirked.
“You said ‘fire’”
“Yes.”
“So, you want me to make a fire?”
“That would be a reasonable expectation.”
“But would it be a right one?”
“How old are you?”
“Seven.”
The old monk looked down at her with a warmth she had never seen in her father’s eyes, “It will be difficult for me to remember this, because of how you speak and carry yourself. I will teach you only one thing for you to have the ability to become what you want to be.” He gestured to two stools that were nearby and they sat, the only warmth diminishing from the dishes they held in their hands. “Expectations, like questions and everything else, are neither right nor wrong. They can be good at one moment and bad at another. They can even be both at the same time.”
“How do you know which is which?”
"I don’t know. But what I do know is I am tired, hungry, and cold. I want to eat, but the coldness will ruin the food. If I sleep now, I’ll be cold and the food will be ruined. In my current predicament, I am going to become warm, so I can heat the food if needed, then sleep soundly. Training starts tomorrow.”
Maria nodded. She opened her mouth to speak and then stopped herself. She stood and looked around to find the fireplace nestled in the clutter of books, instruments, and cleaning equipment. She set her tray down and began to search for wood for the fire. The old monk smiled.