Session Four, Part One
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[size=3]Your funeral cries just hurt our ears.
Stop wailing or you’ll shame the rivers
and hills.
Let me advise you on your tears;
if you’ve got weak blood, don’t eat rich
food.
- Ho Xuan Huong, “Consoling a Young Widow”[/size]
HIEN AWOKE to the sound of a gurgling stream. He blinked his eyes, reflexively tried to rub them, and found that he could not move his arm. His chest throbbed with dull fire and the rest of his body ached as though it were one massive bruise. He tried to turn his head, failed, and grimaced as he tried again. A sharp pain lanced up his neck and he opened his mouth in a wordless cry; his parched throat made no sound. The sun dazzled him, and he shut his eyes against it.
Frustrated, he tried to sort through jumbled memories as he lay prone and unable to move. Valley. Mountain. Temple. Monkey god. Pit, ladder, fight. Strange room…floor of bamboo.
Darkness. Screams. Pain. Agonizing pain, something eating him alive. Arms constricting him…no. Not arms, tentacles. Strong, rubbery tentacles. Something heavy weighing him down, something hard and sharp gnawing through his chest. His chest…
Hien saw the light of the sun shining under his eyelids, and felt its warmth along his front. Relaxing in meditation, he realized that he was outside, lying on a bed of leaves or grass, and restrained by rope or cord around the arms and legs. He sighed, then felt a cold nose touching his face.
He opened his eyes and Sca began to lick him. The fox licked his eyeball, his cheek, his nose. Hien felt the slimy wet tongue flick into his nostril, and he laughed weakly, squirming helplessly in an effort to avoid the ticklish sensation. Sca licked on, oblivious, and Hien giggled and tried to move his head in a vain effort to deflect the brunt of the fox’s ministrations. He turned to the other side and forgot his companion as he took in the scene arrayed around him.
A sloppy camp splayed along a mountain slope. Vines and severed tree branches lay scattered about, and in the center a circle of ash indicated a former cook fire. His companions sat disconsolate and apart from one another, some lost in thought, others digging through piles of uprooted weeds, and one person – Vinh – standing vigil farther up the mountainside. Behind Lei, Tran lay on a makeshift litter. Dried blood caked his pale face, and he lay unnaturally still.
Lei sat on a rock and trimmed a long branch with a hunting knife. He faced Hien but appeared absorbed in his task. Too weak to raise his head, the shaman tried to speak but lacked the strength. Sweat beaded on his brow as he struggled.
It was then that Hiraki, the red eagle, swooped down from the sky and alighted on Hien’s stomach. The eagle beat his wings and cried defiantly to heaven, startling the others from their reveries.
“Hien!” exclaimed Mai. “He’s awake!”
“Hien!” echoed a chorus of voices as people sprung up and raced to crowd around him. “How are you?” asked Woo. “How do you feel?” asked Vinh.
“I…need the spirits’ healing,” replied the shaman, “I fear I have been gravely injured.”
“Yes!” said Vinh. He unraveled the crude ropes holding him in the litter, and the no-sheng and the monk helped him rise to his feet. Mai produced Xi Quan’s staff, and Hien accepted it gratefully. Leaning on the carved Banyan wood, he raised his free hand and invoked the spirits’ blessings. A ghostly wind rose from the ground at his feet, encircling him, causing his hair and garments to whip about as though caught in a storm. Sparkles of blue light swarmed up next, seeping into his wounds and closing them. Color returned to his face, and the knawing pain in his chest subsided to a distant ache. He repeated the process then sat down. “I am drained,” he announced, “Drained, but well enough to travel. I will invoke more blessings of health tomorrow. How…how fares Tran?” He knew the answer.
In response, the others looked away. Some looked at their sandals, others at the distant hills, but none met his gaze. “He has joined his ancestors,” said Woo finally. Hien nodded sadly and placed his hand on Sca’s head as the fox laid it in his lap.
They discussed various ways to preserve Tran’s remains, and argued over what do with them. Lei favored returning the body to the Nguyen family, and Woo argued that they should bury him here in the mountains because they had no way to preserve him for the journey to his home province. In the end they decided to arrest the body’s decline as they could with what herbs Hien could scrounge here on the mountainside and to inquire with the villagers in Phet Lo for further accommodations.
Three days later they arrived at Phet Lo. The villagers took them in, drew them baths, fed them and washed their clothes. A married couple in the village turned out to have had some training in embalming techniques, and with the party’s permission secluded Tran’s remains away and prepared for the procedure. Vo Thi Chao visited the group, indicating that Xi Quan wished to see Hien again, so the younger shaman paid the older a visit. When he returned he bore a
potion of cure moderate wounds, a
talisman of sanctuary, and a
talisman of cure light wounds. Grateful for the further gifts, the party doled them out to who they felt needed them the most – Vinh and Lei got the items of healing, and Hien was given the
talisman of sanctuary. After some discussions concerning provisioning, they agreed to rest for several days while the locals made them some trail foods. As before, the villagers asked the adventurers to set camp out of sight of the settlement. No one complained.
On the second night, Woo stood watch under the stars. The moon hung in its quarter phase, but the evening sky blazed with pinpricks of light. The monk meditated to the night’s sounds – the chirping night birds, the scuttle of restless mountain sheep, and the soft breathing of his companions guided his attunement to the local flow of energy as he pondered the direction his Tao had led him. He was not satisfied with that course, and was not pleased to recognize that he was unsatisfied. This meant that he lacked the serenity to accept what the Universe had offered, a fundamental necessity on the road to enlightenment. What is, is. Desire should play no part.
Frustrated – and unhappy with the recognition of his frustration – he reverted to simple exercises taught to children to help order his thoughts. So ordered, he had begun to sink into deeper levels of meditation when a brilliant flash of light surprised him into wakefulness. A mile away and across a ridge of rock lay Phet Lo, and above it pulsed a silent umbrella of white energy. It strobed several times then disappeared. Alarmed, Woo considered waking his companions, but instead decided to investigate alone. He could traverse the broken and darkened terrain much more quickly by himself, and time could be vital. He collected his jiann and departed swiftly down the valley slope.
Ten minutes later he spied the dark wooden walls of the thorp. All appeared quiet. Cautiously he approached, only to hear a voice out of the darkness.
“What can I do for you, monk? It’s late,” spoke Tuyen, the polearm fighter. A dark form shifted in the small watchtower behind the walls. Faintly in the starlight, Woo saw the glint of steel. He stepped forward and replied breathlessly, “I saw a great flash of light from here; it seemed most unnatural. I thought perhaps you were under attack, so I came to see if you needed help. All is well within?”
“All is well,” replied the warrior laconically, “I saw no flash of light here. Perhaps you were dreaming.”
Woo replied, “I was not dreaming. But if there is no danger, I will go. Good night.”
Keep your secrets, he thought as he bobbed his head and turned to jog back up the slope. He felt the other’s gaze upon him until the town disappeared from sight.
