Within the darkened temple grounds, the moon’s light was blocked by the great towering stone temple itself. So Ga and Min La had only the young monk’s lantern and soft footsteps to guide them over the narrow, winding paths of shining black stone.
By the color of the monk’s robes So Ga suspected this was a temple to Énan. A suspicion that was confirmed when they passed by a fragrant orange grove. Here and there the darkness of the temple grounds was dotted with pale orange lantern light. Along the way they passed a pair of robed monks — these a little older than their guide — who were clad in a more practical cut of the monk’s robe and who carried intricately carved wooden rods, like slender clubs, the weapon of choice for the martial monks who were charged with the defense of their temple. All monks endeavored to preserve lives rather than take them and so even when defending their temples and their brothers, they preferred this more blunt weapon to an edged blade.
Over the course of their winding journey through the temple grounds, the pain in So Ga’s foot gradually became more and more intense. In the end he was forced to lean on Min La’s arm for support. The beggar did not seem annoyed by this. In fact, he seemed altogether distracted by other matters, the majority of his attention fixed on the back of the young monk who was guiding them. So Ga wondered if Min La was afraid, but he didn’t see anything in his behavior to indicate that.
At last they reached their destination, a small wooden structure nestled in a garden behind a large stone house. The garden was rich with the fragrance of herbs; So Ga guessed it was a medicinal garden. The little wooden house was well-lighted and three or four other monks were moving in and out of the opened wall carrying trays laden with various vials and containers, and some overflowing with folded fabric.
As Min La helped So Ga ascend the three steps leading to the porch of the little house, their young guide — who was already standing at the threshold — bowed to someone within and said, “They have arrived, Father.”
Approaching the glowing interior of the little house, So Ga at last saw standing inside an aged monk dressed in heavy velvet robes of deep brown. He stood with a gentle smile on his pale, wrinkled face and his eyes sparkled when he saw the two of them. The young monk stood aside and motioned for them to enter the house. So Ga hesitated, but when Min La took one single step inside, he followed. The old monk watched them with interest. So Ga glanced at Min La’s face but found him to be unreadable. In any case, he didn’t seem nervous. He realized that Min La’s apparent lack of fear also made him feel less afraid.
“What is the time, brother?” the old monk asked their young guide.
“It is nearly three hours past midnight, Father.”
He frowned, his eyes still sparkling. Then he said to Min La, “You are a little late. But I trust you found your path?”
Min La’s face flickered with guilt or embarrassment, and So Ga was surprised to see it. He said nothing at first and merely bowed. Finally, still bowing, he said, “I have brought a wounded traveler. He was attacked on the road and I had hoped you could look after him.”
So Ga was surprised by these words. The beggar had brought him here to stay? How could he stay in a temple? Monks would not be able to help him return to his father’s Palace. But then again, maybe this decision did make the most sense. After all, a temple was a place of sanctuary. And it seemed unlikely that the mercenaries would think to look for him here.
The old monk answered, “We have prepared an herbal bath and some medicine for his—” he glanced at So Ga, “—is it his foot? Thereafter we can offer him a warm bed. We will manage all the rest in due time.”
“But I must—” Min La began, but the old monk held up his hand.
“We have also prepared a bath and fresh clothes for you, my son. You have had a very long, difficult day. Now is not the time for making decisions.”
So Ga saw then that several screens had been hung inside the little house dividing the simple interior into smaller chambers, from which there emanated an abundance of steam. The air inside the house was thickly humid and heavy with the scent of herbs. It felt pleasant to breathe and the fragrance was familiar, he wondered if they had used the same herbs that he was usually prescribed by his doctors. In that moment, So Ga suddenly became aware of how tired he was. The offer of a hot bath and good night’s sleep sounded almost too good to be true.
Turning, he looked at Min La. He wasn’t sure why he did so, but it occurred to him that he was waiting for the young man to tell him it was safe. Again he found himself wondering why he was so inclined to trust him. When Min La nodded at him, he felt a wave of relief and let the monks help him limp into one of the steam-filled chambers. It was a pleasant sensation, trusting someone. He found that it was even more pleasant than the soothing warmth of the herbal steam. He hoped he was not being foolish.
By the time Min La had bathed and dressed in the clothes the monks had brought for him, the prince was fast asleep. He had been offered a small bed within an enclosure made of screens where he had collapsed upon the thin linen mattress, sleeping deeply. They had wrapped his injured foot in a thick bandage, Min La could smell the herbs that had been used to dress and treat the wound. He noticed that the prince seemed to be breathing smoothly, not like he had been in the farmhouse some hours ago.
Leaving him to sleep, Min La went back to his bag, which the monks had left next to another small bed in an enclosure on the other side of the little house. Relieved to find his gold within, at first he simply tucked it back inside the bag, together with his other clean socks and the rest of his belongings, which were also untouched. But then, remembering what had happened with his silver, he took the purse out and slipped it inside the inner pocket of his golt.
Feeling a little more secure, he left the little house and stood upon its porch. The night was still black and the city quiet. Though it was cold, the breeze didn’t cut through his new clothes as it had his old threadbare rags. The white linen inner garments the monks had given him were plain and simply made, but they were new and looked like they had never been worn. He expected they had made them here, as the monks made most of their own clothes and tools. The long inner golt tied at the waist and fitted him loosely, though the sleeves were the right length. The outer golt was heavy wool of plain brown, old and worn in spots, but clean and well-mended. The embroidery along the collar and sleeves had been done in yellow thread and was fraying in several spots. It occurred to him that temples must keep a supply of donated clothes for beggars and poor pilgrims. But his socks were new, which felt to him like a luxury.
From where he stood on the little house’s wooden porch, he could see the temple master’s stone residence where the lights were all aglow. Presently, the aged temple master stepped onto his own back porch, his arms tucked into the voluminous sleeves of his brown velvet robes. Seeing Min La he smiled, removed one of his arms from his sleeves, and gestured him over. Min La couldn’t find his old shoes, so he put on a pair of woven slippers that he found near the little house’s open wall. Then he crossed the garden between the two houses and ascended the steps to the stone residence.
The old man waited for him patiently, his wrinkled face fixed in a gentle smile. As Min La approached, he pointed to his feet.
“They tried to wash your shoes,” the monk said, his eyes sparkling, “but there was no saving them, I’m afraid. We will find you something, I’m sure.”
Min La put his hands together at his waist and then bowed deeply. “Thank you,” he said, “you and your monks have already done so much.”
The monk clicked his tongue and took him by the shoulders, pulling him upright.
“Please, come inside and have some tea.”
Min La followed him to the same low table as before, though the fire in the tiled stove was much hotter now. He sat on the same low chair and the old monk sat opposite. The tea he made this time was not earthy and full of spices, but rather tasted and smelled like orange blossoms. Sipping it in the warmth of the fire and the glowing amber array of candles and lanterns, Min La felt the knot of tension in his chest begin to relax.
“It occurred to me after you left,” the old monk said, stretching out his legs under his robes so his feet could be nearer the stove, “that I had not properly introduced myself.”
At this he paused and spent some minutes chuckling quietly to himself as if at some private joke. Then, at last, he put his hand on his chest and bowed his head. “I am Ŏhen1, temple master of Héothenin and Énan.”
Min La put down his tea cup and returned the bow. He wasn’t sure what else to say and believed that the old temple master had not summoned him just for tea and a courteous exchange of names. So he said nothing.
“You will be pleased to know,” the temple master said, a wide smile on his warm face, “the child has taken a turn for the better.”
It took Min La several seconds to understand what the monk was talking about. But then he remembered the orphan boys and their sickly older sister. Meeting them had felt like an event from another life, months ago, or years. It stunned him to think that that had happened only yesterday.
At last he said, “You were able to get her medicine?”
The old monk nodded. “She has been sleeping soundly for the first time in days. We must thank you.”
It was only then that Min La remembered that he had given the temple master his silver. And that his silver had probably been used to buy the girl’s medicine. Both he and the temple master knew that that was not why he had done it. But the fact was it had been used that way, so he awkwardly nodded and left it at that.
“I had suspected that you would not find sleep as easily as your friend.”
Min La shook his head. “He’s not my friend.”
The old monk raised an eyebrow. “Your enemy, then?”
“I don’t know him. I don’t even know his name.”
“Perhaps not, but you know who he is.”
It wasn’t, Min La noticed, a question.
The silence grew and Min La again picked up his tea cup. He sat holding it and contemplating the fire in the opened stove. As the knot of tension eased another seemed to be slowly taking its place. Tucked beneath the nervous exhaustion that was now collapsing upon him after his strangely bloody day, there was also a growing fear. And though he understood the fear, the way it grew and grew in the silence still surprised him.
Ŏhen the temple master said, “You have washed away the blood, then.”
Min La looked at him, and then reflexively at his hands. “This isn’t the first time I’ve killed someone.”
With a solemn frown, the monk answered, “No, I don’t imagine it is.”
“I had to kill them.” Min La’s brow furrowed. He had not expected to have to justify his actions to the master of a temple of Énan.
“You misunderstand me, my son. It isn’t the blood that was shed that troubles me. It is, rather, that one so young as you should have such a burden on his shoulders.”
“I was raised to be a sword.”
“Were you?”
“My whole family was martial.”
“But that seal around your neck is not yours.” He watched Min La reach for it instinctively, then withdraw his hand. “I suspect that the martial life was not one you took to as naturally as your brother.”
Min La was becoming accustomed to the old monk’s shocking ability to know things he had no way of knowing.
“Despite your birth,” Ŏhen said, “you have long believed that you were not meant to be a sword.”
“It doesn’t matter what we call ourselves,” Min La murmured. “It only matters what we do.”
The monk made a surprised sound and then nodded, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “That is true. In that case, then, what will you do?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
He smiled patiently. “Yes you do, my son. Your choices today have all been significant ones and they have all led you to this one. From the moment you left your silver upon this table, to the moment you brought that young man over our wall, this choice was here waiting for your arrival.”
Min La stared fixedly at his knees. He did not dare meet Ŏhen’s eyes.
Very quietly, he said, “I cannot.”
“Cannot what? Cannot choose?”
But he shook his head. In truth, the old temple master’s words had only echoed the same thoughts that had been swirling in the back of his mind ever since he had seen the prepared house with its steaming baths and glowing lanterns. The sense that his feet had merely been following a path already prepared for him was so strong that it terrified him. He didn’t know the path, he didn’t understand it. Yet here he was walking it, without a clue where it might lead or how it might end. He wanted, above all, to step off the path. He wanted to run from this temple and go south, as quickly as his legs — and his gold — could take him there. While he had been sitting in the cooling bathwater, the thought had struck him that he was afraid. Or, rather, that he had always been afraid, and that fear was the root of his stubbornness. He stubbornly remained fixed to his own path because he feared another.
He was, to put it plainly, a coward. And cowards had no business guarding the lives of anyone, much less a prince.
At that moment Min La fell suddenly to his knees. The old monk, startled, reached out to try to stop him, but it was too late. He stared in amazement as Min La reached into his pocket and pulled forth the purse of gold. After pouring its shining contents onto the floor at the temple master’s feet, he bowed his head and said, voice trembling, “I will give you this gold if you please just tell me what to do.”
At this, the old monk’s face softened. His eyes shone and he began to slide off his chair, awkwardly working his way to the floor.
Kneeling in front of Min La, Ŏhen brushed the gold aside like it was nothing more than spilled grain, and put his hand on the top of his head. “My son,” he said gently, but Min La didn’t move. “Please, child.”
“I do not need the gold.” Min La’s voice still shook. “But I do not know what to do. I do not know the right path.”
“You do need the gold, my child. Much, much more than we do.”
“I do not know what to do.”
“Yes, you do.”
“That cannot be the right path. If I take that path, I will fail.”
With a sigh, Ŏhen sat back on his heels and said, “You do not want me to tell you what to do. You want my permission to step off this path.”
Min La finally looked up, his face confused.
“Who is it that you do not trust, my son? Yourself? Héothenin? Do you think Héothenin would set a path before you that you are incapable of walking?”
But Min La shook his head. “I have never been able to protect anyone.”
“And yet twice today that young man’s life was saved because of you.
“I couldn’t save his guards.”
“Their paths had reached their end. It has happened. Therefore the stones are fixed. Regret and second guessing have never loosed a single stone from Héothenin’s wall. And now the young man is in your care.”
“He is not in my care. I’ve just brought him here.”
“Just like that? Are you not a man? Do you not take responsibility for what you have done?”
“He is not my responsibility.”
“Is he not? Why did you save him, then? Why save him and then abandon him? Would it not have been simpler to just let him die?”
“What if I do something wrong? What if I make a bad choice and he is killed?”
“Whatever choices you make, and whatever happens as a result of them is what is meant to happen.”
Min La shook his head. His hands on his knees trembled visibly. “It cannot be that simple.”
“Simple, yes. But certainly not easy. Easy and simple are two very different things.” As he said this, he began to stand, though was clearly unable to do so himself. Min La helped him, offering one arm for the old monk to lean on and with the other he lifted him, amazed at how light he seemed. It returned to him the briefest memory of his mother, a flash of her gentle, gaunt face as he lifted her frail body into her bed, an easy task for him despite the fact that he had been a small boy. The memory slipped away, leaving Min La a little breathless. In that moment he began to feel how exhausted he was, because the fatigue had begun to weaken some of the protective barriers in his mind.
As he helped Ŏhen back into his chair, the old monk patted his hand and said, “There, there, that’s enough, my boy. You should not make this decision tonight. No big decisions should ever be made by moonlight, don’t you know that?” And he smiled, his dark eyes sparkling. “Sleep. Sleep as long you need to. Make your decision after you have rested.”
As he again tucked his hands into his sleeves, he raised a brow and added, “And perhaps this is a not a decision you should be making alone.”
EYE-oh-hen
I'm nearing the end of what's available to read and I just.. I don't want this to end!! And I can't wait for what's next to come 😫😫 I haven't felt this enjoyment from reading for months now.. Hillary your such an amazing writer thank you for this♡
Wonderful.