Refraction | Part 2 | Multiverse
1) The Cave
The Ninja had been given a name once upon a time, but he could not remember what it was. He could not recall what happened to his parents, or how he had come to the monastery at the edge of the civilized world. At the temple he became first, ‘the Boy’, and then, ‘the Student’. When his home was overrun, and his friends and teachers killed at the hands of the Mahdi Army, he became ‘the Refugee’, and remained that way for many years. He had escaped by hiding, and after emerging from his place of shameful cowardice to find his adopted fathers and brothers murdered, he vowed from that day forward to fight to the death any who came at him as an enemy.
The Monks had schooled him in empty hand techniques of fighting, and he continued his training with a daily regimen that he followed religiously. He set out to find others who could teach him. He walked from town to town trading his strength for whatever it could be traded for, listening to the tales of other travelers, searching for the one who would become his mentor. When he was 16 years old (although he did not know his age), he met a man who told him of a great teacher of the arts of death, who was called simply ‘the Master’. He lived in a cave, three days walk from a town that was three days walk from the town the Refugee was in. He left the next morning at first light and walked for three days without stopping, passing through the village in the darkness, and arriving at the cave of the Master on the evening of the third day.
The Master was wizened in a way that few men reach. An ageless ancient, he was quiet, thoughtful, and lived harmoniously with his environment. He was also deceptively fast, powerful, and deadly. For a time the Refugee lived at the threshold of the Master’s home. A cave, fed by a natural spring, and hidden in the forest not far from a small village nestled high in the mountains amongst the snow and pine trees. Day by day, the Refugee gained the respect and admiration of the Master. The refugee would awake before dawn to insure that there was wood for a breakfast fire. He would prepare a breakfast and begin sweeping the cave. He would sweep again as the Master ate his small meal. After he ate the Master was in the habit taking a morning constitutional in the woods, and while he was gone the Refugee would sweep the cave twice more. His thoughts on the control and conservation of movement. He then prepared a bowl of rice and ate, before preparing a lunch for the Master. His attitude humble, the Refugee had not been asked to do these things, nor had the Master given much acknowledgement to his presence. He had integrated the lost young man into his life seamlessly.
The only time during the day the Master showed interest in, or even that he was aware of the young man, was during the Refugee’s daily exercise. The Master would sit on a rock just inside the mouth of his cave, his walking stick across his lap, his hands folded neatly atop it. He would watch quietly as the Refugee built the strength of his body and mind. He nodded his approval at the Refugee’s technique in doing the forms, and he would respectfully withdraw into his home when the Refugee reached the point in his workout for meditation.
After close to two years of humble, silent service the Refugee received his first piece of encouragement. In came in the form of a scroll, which he found by his head when he awoke one morning to begin his daily routine. He contained his impatience and restrained himself from reading it until the point in the day when he normally began his workout. On the scroll were forms he had never seen before. As he practiced them he realized their deadly power, he could envision his enemies falling before him as he swept his graceful, muscular body from one position to the next. His right fist into the spleen, his left blocking and lifting the arm, exposing the axial nerve bundle to a knife hand strike. His hands closing around the forehead of an imaginary attacker, his leap drawing his knees into the thoracic spine.
Six months later the Refugee found a second scroll, three months after that, a third, accompanied by a pair of polished wooden practice swords. With these new implements he began to train himself in the techniques for which he would later become very well known in the high courts of his land. As he mastered each new set of techniques, new scrolls and weapons would appear, patiently waiting to teach the Refugee their particular method of death.
On the third anniversary of his arrival to the cave the Master finally spoke to the Refugee.
“Student,”, said the Master, “when you perform the ‘honest judge’ maneuver, shift your weight to your left foot as you strike with the washizaki.”
He did not speak again for six months, when he did it was to say simply,
“Student, tonight you will sit with me by the fire, and share the warmth of my home.”
And so The Refugee again became ‘the Student’, again he belonged to a brotherhood, a brotherhood that would reveal its secrets to him slowly, painfully, and completely. The Student trained with the Master during the days and learned his wisdom in the fire lit cave at night. For many years their arrangement was thus, and for both men it was good, but all men must pass through to the next plane and eventually it became that time for the Master. Before his light was extinguished the Master gave the Student a final word.
The Student was kneeling in meditation next to the Master, whom he believed to be sleeping. The old man had been awake and watching him for some time. He knew he would leave this place soon, but he did not want to shatter the tranquility of the moment with noisy words. At last the Student let out a deep breath and opened his eyes, smiled at the Master when he saw that his friend and teacher was awake.
“I am old and have been given the gift of a student who became a friend with which to pass the end of my life, for this I am grateful.”, said the Master, his normally strong voice a ghost of its former self, “Take this gift from me my friend, it is your new name. It is the last name that you will need in this life. It is all that I have left to give you, but I know that you will serve it well, as well as it will serve you.”
With his frail hand he tapped a tightly folded package next to his blankets. The Student waited to open the scroll until the next day, until after he had prayed over the dead body of his Master, and buried him in the earth. He stood in the twilight next to the fresh grave and peeled the wax seal from the parchment, unfolded it. A golden key fell into his palm. On it was embossed a single character.
The bearer of swords.
The maker of skulls.
The Ninja.
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