The path of Tze

It was cold, not the kind of cold that wakes one up in the midst of the night and forces wonderment at the blanket lying next to the bed. It was the kind of cold that chilled you to the bone, and put in your mind a feeling that you’d never be warm again. In the desert, the vastness, the night time was always bitter, but especially so if one took the time to climb up to the mesas near the old way to the Orchlan mountains.

Yogo’s hands were bare, as was most of his body. Scrawny though well built, Yogo often wore just his loincloth when away from civilization. Reaching slowly feeling for the next rock, Yogo was climbing, without rope, without friends, and without sight. The blindfold batted against his back gently in the wind, long ago he’d been taught that one does not need to see the way to follow it. His favorite teacher had taught him that, often sighting the story of an old blind monk who walked with an unlit lantern.

You could consider Yogo’s ability to have a favorite much like an ant’s ability to know where he was on Athus; it was something you didn’t think much about. Yogo would never have been able to say “he is my favorite teacher,” but invariably if you spoke to Yogo for any length of time, he quoted this teacher more than the others. This was not to say that he did not quote the others, and again much like our lost ant on Athus, it goes to the ant-hill it knows best.

Yogo struggled in a kind of awkward grace up to the top of the cliff, it took the better part of three hours against the cold night wind. Here the sun would not rise, unless Yogo willed it. The moon would not set, unless Yogo willed it. Yogo of course had no real power over the sun or moon, but what you could not see, could not change. The unknown was always the unknown, if the moon had been in the sky that night (and it had) Yogo would not have known it, or felt it. Yogo simply trusted that the way would continue, and here at the top of the mesa, he had sat down on a small rock on the path side of the one way. Nothing would change, until he continued along the way.

One of the things they don’t tell you as a student is that the way is not something you should always follow. Of course you should always strive for the way, and the way is of course the way. But taking the time to ponder the way, and stopping, is of course, something one should do often. Like a leaf on a river stream with no choice but to go with the current, it doesn’t have to follow the river. It can often stop to enjoy an eddy or two. This was how Yogo found his perfect, never-ending moment. It would last until he let his eyes see again. The cold didn’t matter anymore, it was still cold, but that was the nature of night in the desert. Here sitting on top of the mesa in the night, he was sitting, and no longer hanging onto the cliff side in danger of falling to his death.

The way up had been long and hard, and Yogo thought calmly of the moment, not what had happened to get here. He had climbed with the way, with complete and utter faith, that if he was not supposed to be here, he simply would not be here. In many ways he was more in tune with the way than he realized. It was only the voice in his mind that told him he did not understand, and that he must continue to try to understand that blocked his advancement. It’s also not often taught that one should let the way carry you, forget about understanding the way, if it wants to be understood, you will understand it. Faith in the way was something they did not teach; Explicitly. Doing so would lead to many who would never find faith in the way, they would only think they had faith in the way… and so the path to enlightenment continued.

Yogo felt the coolness of the night leave, and he removed his blindfold. Standing before him was an old man, one who could have been dead or alive, either way, looking at him gave you the sense that he was supposed to be there. Nothing about how strange he looked felt wrong. It wouldn’t bother you that the old man had no eyes, and carried an unlit lantern. It wouldn’t bother you that the old man’s left arm was that of a skeleton, while the rest of his body seemed perfectly natural. It didn’t matter that his beard was long and gray only when he wasn’t looking at you, you simply didn’t question it, because it felt right.

The old man spoke to Yogo, “its been a long winter, how have you come to find me?” Yogo didn’t know what to say, probably the first time in his life Yogo didn’t know what to say. Yogo knew when he was supposed to speak, when he was supposed to have something to say, when he was supposed to answer. Yogo also knew when it was time to remain silent, when the answer you thought of shouldn’t be said, and when the smart remark you were about to say, under all circumstances, should not be heard. This wasn’t one of those moments, here Yogo felt at a loss, clearly, he was supposed to say something!

The old man looked at him, with a stare that the kind of man who belonged on the top of a mesa in the middle of the vastness in the early morning could give. Yogo decided he’d best say “I don’t know sir.” The old man turned around and looked at the sunrise, which hadn’t really happened yet. “not many people come to find me, not many people at all, in fact, ever since I left the commune years ago, only three people have come looking,” said the old man with a twinge of happiness in his voice. It was the kind of voice that suddenly reminded you of when your grandfather secretly let you have a cookie your mother had said would ruin your Sunday dinner.

Yogo looked on, still at a loss for words, he finally realized that he just hadn’t expected there to be a monk up here, he’d not even expected to come up here, its where the way led him. The way leads people to strange places sometimes, and that’s almost guaranteed if you go blindfolded. The old man spoke again, without waiting for Yogo to ask about the three people who had come looking, “the first of the men was my apprentice, he wanted to follow me, and i told him, you must find your own way. A hundred years later, the second came, and was my brother, wont you come home he said. I remember thinking, ill be home if I’m needed.”

Yogo listened and enjoyed the sunrise, he’d never taken his blindfold off this early before, and the way had never told him to. He liked to go places at night with his blindfold, seeing where the way would lead him to wake up in the morning. It was a path he had learned recently from one of his mentors. He recalled the first time his teacher spoke the line, and of course, it could only be one teacher who said it… “sometimes you’ve just got to trust that humans are blind and the way will lead us all to everything we seek, only then will we become humble, only under bu’sem will we learn to listen”

And now, nearly naked and not shivering as he ought to have been, Yogo spoke to the old man “what about the third?” the old man turned, and did not smile. Most people would have expected a sly smile, it was merely what one did when they were about to say something they knew would be unexpected. Again, it just seemed right that the old man didn’t smile.
“he sits before me now, dumbfounded as he is.”

Yogo ran this thought through his mind, it made sense, the old man hadn’t said, three had come looking for me before, and he had only said three had come looking… But Yogo certainly wasn’t looking for him, and he foolishly spoke, as Yogo is prone to do when faced with a situation he only partly understands. Yes, partly understanding things is dangerous… almost as much as fully understanding them. “I had not come looking for you.”

“no, i did not say you had.” Yogo realized his blunder, of course, he’d come looking, he came without sight, but he still was looking, the old man did not say the three came looking for him. “Well, that was foolish of me.” “Yes”. It was exactly what you expected to hear. It’s hard to really say that no matter how unexpected this was, it really was, right, there was nothing unusual about it, it didn’t even feel like there should have been, it just plain wasn’t.

“I suppose I should be leaving now young one. Take care, don’t slip on your way down, it’s an awfully long fall, ill see you again tomorrow.” Yogo looked confused, and asked “where are you going?” The old man responded “nowhere, it’s you who is leaving, can’t you feel it?” The old man had been right of course, Yogo had stood up and bowed without realizing it, he had walked all the way to the edge, ready to climb back down. He just hadn’t thought about it, it didn’t slip his mind, it made sense, it was right, it was the way, you just trusted in the way.

“Before you leave master” said Yogo “what is your name?” It didn’t matter who was walking away, the fact that they were no longer in proximity meant that they were leaving. In fact, it didn’t make sense for them to be leaving… they were of course, always with themselves… It all made sense, exactly as it should. “I suspect you already know, but you won’t let yourself believe. You’ve stumbled onto my path, and now you have decided to walk it yourself.” Yogo nodded, it made perfect sense… he had found a new teacher, and it was time to consult with elder Allon. It was time for his name to change.

If it wasn’t a shadow close by it must’ve been a cloud in the distance. The sun was high over head, everything was lit starkly. There was so much contrast; one didn’t have to be a zebra to confuse predators. Yogo stood quietly at the base of the tall and ancient mesa. At this time of day, it didn’t matter where you were on the path to the Orchlan mountains; the sun overhead hit everything, except for one patch. Yogo could not tell where it was, in much the same way it is hard to tell if the bird headed towards you is a very small swallow right in front of you, or a an enormously large vulture a great distance away. Yogo began to move southeast through the spindles of rock, calmly with each step he gained an inescapable feeling that something was out of place. If you trust in The Way, you learn to trust that nothing is ever out of place, so Yogo knew that if something felt out of place, it was The Way’s way of telling you something really was out of place.

It wasn’t a shadow; in fact, it could’ve been anything but a shadow. Now, if you’ve been to the old pillars of the Orchlan, you know how confined it is among those great stone towers. If you’ve never had the pleasure of walking in the space between the pillars of the Orchlan, it’s a lot like walking around in the back alleys of Erithorn, except the buildings are made of cool sandstone, are fifteen times as tall, it doesn’t smell nearly as bad, and there are often killer bees instead of people. Tall narrow places like that bothered Yogo. Something about them always seemed to him, as if they had been sculpted by the One’s hands; or at the very least by some other equally large ineffable being. This was not to say that Yogo is afraid of the place, just, that he is unsettled by it. So here, the fact that something could be seen in the distance was… puzzling. It still wasn’t a shadow.

It passed by so quickly, maybe it wasn’t a cloud either. A sudden rush of energy swept by, the feeling you get when you charge into battle, or leap across a great gap on horseback; the rush of diving into a pool or standing beneath a waterfall. It is the kind of rush you feel when everything is perfectly still. Yogo wasn’t ready for it, and it spun him around in the same manner that gnomish clockwork is supposed to but doesn’t. It was this moment, when a thousand leagues away, old Draglock’s hammer had struck the new adamantine blade forming in his forge, the same moment when the last drop of Elder Allon’s tea had not yet fallen from the brittle cup towards his awaiting tongue. To the north, a lightning bolt was standing still, stemming from the highest peak in the Dwarven Mountains. Deep in Ravenwood a wolf’s howl stood in the air, preparing to strike fear into those who dared to tread down the dark path. At this exact moment, Yogo realized why he could see something far away, in a place where stone giants make it impossible to see into the distance. It definitely wasn’t a cloud.

The world shimmered and faded away, Yogo was face to face with himself. The reflection was shimmering in the bright noon-lit sun. Yogo stood hip-deep in the Orchlan Lake. There lying before him, beneath the gently rippling water was a skeleton in a commune robe. Yogo had perhaps not been the first person to be led into this folly. Thankfully The Way had given Yogo enough mind to shatter the illusion before him. A few steps further would have led to a watery grave. Yogo looked with all of his heart; he could sense the malignant presence watching. Magic of the school of illusion could be very intense, but even illusion cannot cloud The Way. The Way is nothing and everything. Nothing cannot cloud everything, nor can everything be clouded by itself. It was like trying to open a box with a crowbar, contained within the box. Yogo looked towards the shore, now free of the illusion.

“Your illusion was flawed,” Yogo spoke. A voice returned, one that sounded like the beating of a heart, like the beating of a drum. Each word in the ghostly sentence came like an echoed pulse. “I Will Not Fail Next Time”. It was clear, whatever Yogo was dealing with, was not natural to Athus. Such an unholy voice it had, an angry, unhappy voice full of dark emotion, full of shadow. It came again, with a strange relish; it clearly intended harm upon Yogo. “It Has Been A Long Time Since I Have Come Across One Of You With Such Strength, Monk.” It was taking a perverted pleasure in the words. Yogo felt the air around him harden, and he could no longer breathe. Maybe, it was a Shadow.

Yogo struggled, unable to move as the dark apparition appeared around him. The Shade was now visible clearly, and anyone who wished could have seen it, but this was one of those times, ironic in an expected manner. No one was there to see it except for Yogo, and even he could not see it, as he struggled to become free of the icy wind. Yogo was being strangled by the frozen shade’s unseen hands. Yogo was not as skilled in the martial arts as many of his brethren, but Yogo was deadly with a bow; The Way seemed to give him great ability in sending arrows where it wished. He was not entirely unskilled in mortal combat, but he was clearly at a disadvantage to the Shade’s strength.

The form of the Shade is rather difficult to describe. As each moment passes, the Shade’s body filters in and out of existence, the darkness and light play much like the ground underneath a maple tree on an autumn day.

Yogo could breathe again, but the struggle continued. Harshly. Yogo’s neck was being twisted to the right, as if in the grip of a long spanner, his neck was in danger of snapping like a twig. Snapping like a twig is something you might hear a lot, but this time, the twig snapping is not snapping because someone has bent it far enough to break it. No, this time it is snapping because of intense heat. The flames of pain worked their way through Yogo’s spine. This was no longer about air, it was about survival. Most members of the commune can hold their breath for a dismally long time, it comes from the trained ability to find calm at all times, especially during a battle to the death. Unfortunately for Yogo, remaining calm here would not relieve the bonfire in his neck. The moment lasted, longer, drawn out like an author continuing a thought that no longer needed to be continued. It was like a description carried a few sentences further than required, and then suddenly, it ended.

Yogo felt no tension, no resistance, and most importantly, no death. He was alive and well, and standing hip-deep in water, there were no signs of struggle, no ripples in the water, it was perfectly calm. “Another illusion?” Yogo said quietly. Thoughts raced through his mind, the kind of thoughts you think you might have when you climb a mountain. Yogo could not tell if the struggle had been an illusion, or if this calmness, was the illusion. It was here, in this moment that he remembered another of his favorite teacher’s proverbs. “The way of a dream is still The Way, do not wrestle, and do not attempt to determine if you are sleeping or awake, for if it is a dream, you will come to awaken in time. You can learn much in your dreams as well, trust in The Way, and if you must, Pinch yourself and move on.” Yogo pinched himself.

A few moments passed, he was still, hip-deep in the Orchlan Lake, it was still calm, and the moments were still longer than they ought to be. Then, suddenly, there it was, again, the dreadful beating. The watery shade, the illusion of death, the beating drum, the voice called, “You Will Perish If You Continue Your Path.” Yogo paused, and remained motionless. It is important to understand the meaning behind this idea. Usually when one remains motionless, it means they were not moving to begin with, thus it is a difficult thing to pause. It is this duality that is the nature of The Way, it is in this manner, that Yogo paused and remained motionless.

The voice came again, it was impossible to tell how much time had passed since the last time it had cared to make itself heard. “Each Breath You Take Is One Breath To Many, Each Brother You Have Is One Brother To Many.” It was clear; the Shade had a grudge against the commune. Yogo had to warn Elder Allon, he had to live, and he was sure of it.

It passed by so quickly, an echo of the past, a spirit of hate, a wispy flash. Yogo’s head flew backwards from the blow. The Shade struck, and Yogo felt his lungs collapse. This was real. Yogo fell into the water, and the ripples moved out from his body as if they were small tidal waves, each headed out to destroy a metropolis of ant hills. This too, was real. Yogo found his body responding without thinking; situations like this often brought about Mu’shin. With his reflexes he retreated to shore and reached to unstring the bow on his back with his left hand. His right hand brought an arrow forth, and he prepared to load his bow. There was only one problem, this was not real.

Yogo’s body had remembered his bow, but Yogo had neglected to bring it, he was alone, wet, and in a loincloth. He had a blindfold, but nothing more. He had lent his bow to his brethren, who were now currently on a hunt to procure another day’s meal for the commune. The Shade visible and shimmering rushed at him. It was an unnatural ghostly rush; this was the type of spirit that should’ve fallen to rest long ago. This was an abomination, something that had, unnaturally, gone against The Way. It needed purification. Yogo ducked, but it did not help, the Shade had not intended to strike Yogo in the head. It instead pressed into Yogo’s chest. There was an agonizing yell, as Yogo felt his spirit break. There was no cut in Yogo’s body, no blood, just a gaping hole in his spirit, and his energy, his Ki, was draining into the void. The negative energy of the Shade was replacing it, Yogo collapsed forward.

It did not take long for Yogo to realize that he could not win this fight, even if he had had a potion to heal, even if he had his bow and a single arrow, it would remain an impossible battle. Yogo made it to his feet, and forced the Ki to his hands. He’d need spiritual attention soon, a gash of this size was not unheard of, and that was the problem. Your cut, you bleed, you bleed too much and you die. This was similar, when your spirit is cut; it bleeds, if it bleeds too much, you become void. Yogo’s hand burst into flames, and as he poured his spirit into a fist the Shade spoke again. “You Will Die Here Mortal.” That was the problem with shade’s, they tended to think of themselves as immortal. But really, they were still souls, they could still be wounded, they could still become void… they could still, die.

Yogo’s fist flew forwards, a waterfall’s force and a deer’s speed, it was pure balance, it was the martial training, and it was the body’s memory. It was also, too slow. The Ki strike missed, and the horrible voice laughed. For a moment, it was just like your mothers uncanny ability to give warning to wear a raincoat on a sunny day. Yogo’s flurry of blows continued, the successive blows pummeled into the Shade. Indeed the thunderstorm on that clear day had appeared. With each touch, Yogo could feel his energy flow into the Shade. This time, the incorporeal body of the shade shuddered. It wasn’t that Yogo was damaging the Shade’s form, but that he was intentionally dumping positive energy into the ghoulish adversary.

The Shade became like a dream, it vanished, but the echo of its voice was clear, its message was heard. “You Have Not Defeated Me”. Yogo had already known. The Shade had no need to inform Yogo of its remaining existence. Yogo’s fierce sequence of Ki strikes was enough to stun the Shade, but only that. It was no surprise that a shade able to exist in such intense sunlight due to its sheer power would survive such blows.

Yogo ran eastwards, towards the storm side, towards the farmlands, towards the commune. With each footfall the Shade was regaining strength. Yogo’s only hope was that it was dazed enough to lose sight of him, to give him time to escape. It was an intense run, like watching the last bit of sand fall slowly through the hourglass; it is always so hard to determine exactly when it will stop. Yogo kept running, hoping, believing. The Way would not have let him escape had it not intended, and now he had two things to discuss with Elder Allon.