Rijay

"Tackle that lee line boy or it’ll be rough going on ye." The dark skinned youth jumped at the command lunging for the whipping line loosened by the buffeting winds. The line lanced across his face but with a deft callused hand he plucked it out of the air and tied it down. Running a hand over his bruised cheek the youth watched the headland grow closer. Home at last. The voyage had been a long one. Up and down the Calypsan coast they had sailed. The trip was a success their hold brimming with art, bullion and various illegal contraband. They had engaged and sunk two small schooners. The small fast vessels were no match for the lightning quick sloop of war. One schooner contained female slaves bound for some Baron’s pleasure in Y’Larris. The women were being held in the captain’s cabin and little had been heard from him in days.

The first mate hollered aft and the black pennant was replaced by the blue and gold flag of the house of Beor. It’s coat of arms a coiled red snake circled about a silver sword. Through the mist and spray a jetty came into view. "Loose’n the main sail," bellowed the first mate. Sail and tackle were lowered and tied down. A splash in the shallow water was followed by a rusty chain secured to an iron anchor. The skiff was lowered and the long job of transferring the treasure ashore began.

Rijay huddled under the tarp his arms clasped about his chest. He rocked back and forth trying to keep warm. An iron band hung loose about his ankle the shackle and chain attached to an iron ring embedded into the bulkhead. The youth’s dark skin was offset by dazzling deep set blue eyes. A thin light brown beard covered a firm jutting jaw. His hair was tied back by a gnarled string and hung low down to his waist. His build was of average proportion displayed keenly by well defined sinew under taut brown skin. The schooner rocked under a deep swell causing the youth to brace himself or be bowled over. Gauging by his looks he could have been nearing his twenties but in actuality Rijay was only fourteen cycles old. A grimace of pain then hatred crossed his face as the shackle pulled on his chaffed skin.

It had been almost ten cycles ago when Rijay was brought to the small village on the coast of Y’Larris. He was a prize from a plundered vessel his fortune to be that of a slave under the ownership of the House of Beor. His memories of a time before the death of his parents were now vague even their visage was difficult for him to conjure. He could not remember any siblings or Grandparents. His family name was lost with his heritage, washed away in a tide of blood and death.

He served the Baron in many ways over the years tilling the rocky fields or milking the ornery goats. He got on well enough as a slave the food and shelter enough to keep him alive. Rijay rarely smiled as he grew older and on that infrequent occasion he did it was soon replaced by a dark scowl. His hatred grew as he was forced to take part in heinous crimes for the wealth of Beor. By the time he was eight he worked the schooner almost exclusively his fate that of the whip and lash. His strength was tested along with his will to live. As his muscle and nerve hardened so did his disposition. His vocabulary shortened to a brief aye or nay sir. Those years of hate wore heavily on his shoulders and sometimes he wondered what his life might have been.

"Bloody idiot ‘e was Jay, poor lost lamb." The old man stood slightly bent at the waist his gray hair was tied back but his lengthy beard covered most of his upper chest. He looked worriedly at Rijay suddenly fearful of what the lad might do. "Never mind that old fool. He died, he lived," the dark haired youth stated flatly. The old sailor wore a pair of tattered pants the same as Rijay. "Me turn’ll come lad. It’ll be my carcass ya toss to the fish." Rijay gave Mate a cold look. "Your not so lucky as that old man. My hide will fly on that mast ‘fore you hit bottom." He turned away hiding a smile.

He had made few friends and those he did befriend didn’t last long. Pirating and smuggling is not a healthy trade to begin with. When your tied to the deck most of the time your odds of staying alive are greatly reduced. Jorge was dead. He worked beside Rijay. They ate together and sang old salty sea ditties. The first mate had it in for Jorge from day one. Jorge was a Dakartan, had lived most his life there. His accent had betrayed him. It wasn’t right. Jorge was gone. Rijay bid him well on his way to a better place.

The first mate had a name but Rijay only thought of him as the bloody bastard. The only person he remembered calling the first mate by his name was the Captain. First mate Peddington was how he usually addressed him. The Captain had a name too, Edwards. They made a great pair. Captain Edwards would assign a task to Peddington who turned it into a nightmare for the deck hands. He couldn’t get through any large project without getting blood from one of them. He was the most sadistic son-of-a-whore Rijay had ever known and he’d seen his share. Jorge had turned his back on Peddington after being cursed and spit upon. Jorge refused to be spit on in the face. Peddington drew his cutlass and gored the poor fellow.

Rijay bore through it all. The degradation, the whippings and the killings. He kept the anger in a box and buried it deep in his mind. He thought of tomorrow and the possibility of freedom. That desperate hope and a deep dark vengeance kept him in line. His back was blistered and crossed with hundreds of lash wounds. The deep bite of the whip drove him to a new level of pain. He made the occasional misstep, a mummered reply, a slow response, even worse and most deadly, sickness. He had been frightfully ill, near death but managed to avoid slipping over the edge into that quiet darkness of the deep.

Mate slapped him on the back. "We might’n get ashore this night."

"Don’t hold your breath old man. The Captain has left with his contingent of maidens and we shan’t sail on the morning tide that is true. Thinking we could be needed ashore, you dreamer."

It was a dream, a bad one. Late that evening the Captain made a surprise return a contingent of heavily armed men accompanied him. They had an independent air typical of a warrior for pay. Also returning soon after were the freemen, the sailors who were paid for their work. Little punishment did they ever receive. Rijay didn’t hate the freemen so much as wonder why they enjoyed the murder and blood letting. First mate Peddington barked off the commands to raise anchor and make sail. The timing was close as the tide was beginning to turn. Racing up the ratlines Rijay loosened the main sails enjoying the feeling of aloofness and freedom. He took note of one last passenger aboard a small outrigger fast approaching. The man was dressed in dark cloak with the hood up making recognition impossible. He jumped aboard just as the sloop started forward as if he timed it exactly.

The youngest slave stood swaying slightly as the "Rusty Stud" made way for open water. At Ten cycles the youth had been captured and sold into slavery. This was his second voyage and he already bore the marks that labeled his status. Pointing towards the marker he indicated safe passage. Rijay liked the young man at first meeting. Paom was the lad’s name. It translated as "lucky one" in the old dialect. Rijay decided Paom’s luck had run out. "Aye lad, to sea it is. By the looks of our cargo, plan on it being a long voyage." Paom looked up into the older youth’s blue eyes, "How be it you know? Mayhaps deduce our landfall as well?" Rijay looked about for the first mate or freemen. He didn’t see any about and in a low voice replied, "Those armed men. I’ve seen many a voyage with the like. They are executioners paid to silence a bad link in their money tree. My bet is we head for the coast of Calypsa." The boy’s face registered fear then hope, "We’ll be caught by Calypsa patrol. We could gain our freedom at last!" Rijay sighed inwardly, "Nay lad, we’ll get by. We always have.

The sun bore down mercilessly as the "Rusty Stud" made slow progress in the light winds. Paom, Mate and Rijay all slumped in the shade of the main sail conserving their strength. In weather like this the water portions were usually reduced for the slaves so the privileged freemen could indulge. Nearly asleep, Rijay was wakened by Paom’s question, "Ye speak like the learned, how so?" Rijay paused working his memories into a clear picture. "I know not of my childhood except my capture and enslavement. My parents were of some wealth. They must have trained me. That old crow Marietta didn’t aid my learning." Marietta was the village war chief. She inherited Rijay after his capture. Marietta never whipped him. She just wouldn’t feed him if he disobeyed her. She trained him well in the ways of hardship. Up every morning before dawn and rarely to bed before the last bell. She forced herself on him early and only when he got older did he refuse her. "I have learned more of late be assured," he added regretfully.

The waves swelled and the winds gusted a warning of the approaching storm. Reducing sail the Captain wheeled his charge towards the crests not eager to see his craft swamped and turn turtle. The crew clung to shroud and wire least they be cast into the violent seas. Hours later the storm receded and the sloop returned to her southwesterly course. Rijay was busy cleaning up the mess leftover from the storm. Lines were snapped and sail torn. He was replacing a mainstay line when he felt eyes watching him. Glancing around he saw the figure of a man covered in a dark cloak. It was the late arriving passenger. The cloaked figure stood staring at the young slave for several moments then ducked away into the hold of the ship leaving Rijay to wonder why the stranger took interest in him.

The "Rusty Stud" dropped anchor in the quiet bay. The moons had yet to rise and what little light trickled down from the stars only made the shadows ominous and uninviting. The skiff was lowered and the mercenaries scrambled over the side armor and weaponry rattling loudly across the calm water. Vanishing into the darkness the skiff darted away it’s deadly cargo nestled on board. Rijay stood by watching the performance his eyes never leaving the roughened warriors. When they disappeared from view he relaxed visibly running a tar blackened hand back through his dirty and twisted black hair. Nearby, a slave named Eric whispered, "Me thinks them swords be back ‘fore t’morn’n tide."

"Shsssh!" Whispered back Paom. The young slave held a finger to his lips.

"What’s all this then. Bed down ya filthy vermin," hollered first mate Peddington. His voice held a touch of fear that caught Rijay’s attention.

A roughened grip on his bare shoulder awakened Rijay and he twisted quickly away expecting a beating or worse. Instead he looked into complete darkness. He realized someone was towering over him, the man in the cloak. A sudden fear washed through him quickly replaced by anger, "What have you with me stranger," he whispered. The words barely out of his mouth when he felt the non-to-gentle tug of the shackle release from his ankle. He was free. No longer angry he scrambled to his feet. The stranger moved away towards the stern and Rijay paced warily behind. Reaching the stern rail Rijay gazed at the large unlit lantern. It swayed with the motion of the sloop pulling lightly at anchor in the gentle water. The cloaked figure gestured to one corner. Rijay moved and discovered a rope which dangled over the side to a waiting skiff. His eyes were now well adjusted to the darkness and he could see no one on board the skiff. "Go," the stranger spoke the voice low and harsh. Scrambling over the side Rijay landed softly upon the skiff seating himself and preparing the oars. "That won’t be necessary came a voice from behind him." Rijay stiffened the hairs on the back of his neck bristled as a cold fear ran through his body. No man could move so quick or silent unless, magic was involved. The skiff pulled away gaining speed quickly and the "Rusty Stud" faded into the darkness.

Freedom

The skiff made shore in swift time. Standing with ease the tall cloaked man gestured extending a long arm pointing up the beach. Leaping at the silent command Rijay splashed into the receding surf. He took a step then turned preparing to except the bow line. Except the skiff was gone. "Come, I have something you must witness." The gravely voice sprung from the tree line at the edge of the shallow beach.

"Must you do that," complained Rijay. Catching up with the thin giant he had to hurry just to keep pace. "You wouldn’t mind if I asked you a question?" Rijay kept his eyes on the path.

"Fair enough. Ask your question." The tall man if he was a man never broke stride in his reply.

"What is your name?"

"I have many names. Most call me the Pale One."

Rijay’s breathing was accelerating as his quick strides brought a sweat to his brow.

They crested a small rise breaking into a larger open area. A light could be seen at a good stones throw. As they came closer the light cast long shadows across a small chapel. The fine marble glowed under the lights flickering flame. A doorway stood open. Pale One stopped, placing an arm on Rijay’s shoulder he whispered, "You must be silent. They cannot see you as long as you hold my hand." Rijay nodded in response his boyish curiosity excited with this new development. Grasping the offered hand Rijay flinched. The Pale One’s hand felt cold to the touch and the skin rough like the bark of a tree. Walking slowly up the short stairs to the chapel door they entered passing a Mercenary on guard just inside. The warrior looked grim and determined but they slipped by unnoticed. Through a second door they passed deeper inside the Chapel. The next room was no more than a large closet. Several feet before them lay the remains of a short table now smashed to splinters. A priest lay along side. Rijay didn’t recognize the markings of faith. The other Mercenaries were here all straining to see what was happening as one held an iron box safe. "What think you Byron, should I open this here?"

"Damn you Pug. Why’d ya go and kill ‘em for?" "I didn’t mean ter kill ‘em." The last responded in a hurt tone his flail hung like a whipped dog at his side.

"Yeah, open ‘er up."

Placing the box in the middle of the hard stone floor the Mercenary pulled a broken short sword and using it like a chisel starting hammering away at the lock using the butt end of his great sword like a hammer. "Crunch, Clang, Clang. The lock broke free and he lifted the lid. Inside the box under a velvet cover sat a small statue of an elephant about a foot in length. It shimmered in the light, it’s surface of gold.

"This is it. Let’s go mates."

The Mercenaries filed out quickly leaving Rijay and the Pale One alone with the dead priest.

"You saved me from slavery and had me witness a theft. The dead priest was a bonus, eh?" Rijay sat against a tall tree watching the yellow flames dance in the fire. They had marched north away from the Chapel the Pale One setting a rapid pace. After reaching a safe distance the tall cloaked giant started a fire and now sat opposite his head bowed. "I still haven’t seen your face. Are you that ugly or is the price on your head that much?" Pale One let his hands slip out of his cloak sleeves tossing back his hood. Rijay gasped inwardly. The giant’s skin was white, his forehead irregular in shape as it extended higher than the norm by a good hand’s breadth. "As you can see, my features can illicit negative responses. It is much easier for me to remain concealed."

"Are you human?"

"That question isn’t pertinent to your situation. What are you going to do now?"

Rijay looked away his mind a confused blur. "I…I don’t know."

"If you could achieve one thing in your life, what would it be?

"That’s an easy one, I’d burn the House of Beor to the ground and annihilate that clan of sick, sadistic pirates!" Rijay was on his feet hands clinched in tight balls at his side. "Those bastards killed my family!"

The Pale One nodded, "It is a fitting end that you dream of Rijay."

Rijay turned his blue eyes on the Pale One. He noted the yellow eyed stare he got in return. "It is not a dream. I will make it a reality."

"That is just what we…I wanted to hear."

The slip didn’t go unnoticed by Rijay. "Who are we?"

Pale One sighed, "It is of little importance. You will learn when the time comes. But for now you must be trained." "Trained? How so?"

Pale One pulled his hood back over his face and leaned back crossing his arms, "You think the House of Beor will just bend over and let you stick it in their rear without a fight?"

"Point taken. You have this all planned, don’t you."

"Why, yes I do. Now get some sleep. We leave at dawn.

Pale entered the tree covered stream bed and slowed to a stop. He had kept a torrid pace leaving Rijay to negotiate the brambles and knee high foliage. The sun twinkled brightly through the treetops and a steady breeze cooled his overheated body. After waiting a few moments Rijay arrived landing belly first in the sandy soil. The young ex-slave had blood streaked legs from numerous cuts and scratches. His breathing was heavy and erratic and he lay motionless for several minutes. Removing a small pouch from within his cloak Pale opened it and removed a small piece of salted beef. After chewing down the small portion he drank from the stream. "You hungry," he asked the boy. A muffled groan came from Rijay. Rolling over on his back he muttered, "Trying to kill me."

"Not at all my friend. You need to be toughened."

"Lamb to the slaughter you mean."

Pale smiled under his hood, "There is a good reason for pushing you so hard."

Rijay didn’t answer but struggled to the waters edge and let his head fall into the cool current.

Pale had pushed them east from the coast avoiding any roads or decent paths. He had walked quickly forcing Rijay to run or jog most of the way. The pace was hard even for the tall albino but it was necessary for what was to come.

"What is the hurry," asked Rijay.

"I lead you to the Master," responded Pale mysteriously. "He only excepts those who are truly dedicated. No maybes or I’ll give it my best shots will do. You must convince him you are worthy of his time."

"So you say." Rijay splashed water on his wounds. "Why not be trained as a knight? I hear there is good training in Geneva."

"This is different. No Politics. No goofing off. Best of all if he excepts you it will be one on one training." Pale handed the boy a piece of beef. "Here, you best eat something. We must move on."

"You suck barnacles," Rijay breathed noisily around the tough meat.

That evening Rijay sat by the fire rubbing his sore, blistered and bruised feet. "How much further?"

Pale looked up from his meditation, "Two more days. We should see the mountains by late tomorrow."

"Mountains? We have to climb mountains?" Rijay laid his head down and instantly fell asleep.

---

They edged along a valley wall the steep drop off threatening and deadly. "This is fun. Say, what is that village down there." Rijay pointed towards the north indicating some buildings in the distance. "Highgate," Pale responded, careful not to sound winded. "High is accurate enough," Rijay responded, "How much further?" "Not far."

"Thank the Gods!"

After another ascent through a rock jungle they came to a wall. Nearby a wooden gate stood open. "Is that it," exclaimed Rijay his voice full of hopeful sarcasm. Passing through the gate they entered a large courtyard paved with irregular stones. A stone house sat proudly at one end it’s craftsmanship and design a wonder to behold complete with roof of a concave material. Several flower beds ringed the building and hunched over one section was someone dressed in a richly colored outfit. "Hello Mashima," Pale called out as they closed the distance. The bright colored person rose and turned towards them. "Hi." It was a woman of undetermined years but not old. She had a wide face that held a nice smile. "Shisto, is that you?" Pale approached the woman giving her a big hug dwarfing her. "It is and this is Rijay." The youth gave her a studied look. The woman had yellowish skin on a stout frame and her eyes looked slanted. Rijay shrugged, "This barbarian drug me across Calypsa nearly tearing my legs out from under me. Can you cook ‘cause this crazy giant is worthless on the trail. All I ate was stale beef that nearly broke my teeth." Mashima laughed, the sound sweet and clear similar to the melody of a song bird. For some reason it made Rijay feel strange. "Come in my old friend. You too Rijay," she added a bit belatedly. Inside the house a pleasant smell hung in the air and Rijay was surprised by the meager accommodations. A low table sat on one side of the large room several cushions all around. Candles hung from the walls as well as a tapestry. A partition separated the room from the next adorned with a beautiful pattern of fish and plants. Rijay moved closer to inspect the tapestry while the woman left the room. It pictured a young man dressed in black pants with white shirt. He held a sword in both hands. The sword looked strange very thin with a tapered tip. In the background was a lush valley littered with hundreds of dead bodies. "Overly dramatic don’t you think." Pale fixed his yellow eyes on Rijay, "That is a painting of the Master." Mashima returned with a pitcher and several small cups on a tray. "Please sit." As she poured the tea she spoke to Pale, "You’ve been gone a long time." Pale removed his hood and excepted the tea with an encouraging smile, "Too long. This young man is here to be tested." Mashima turned her gaze on Rijay, "You would be a master?" Rijay excepted the cup tasting the tea with small sips, "I shall be in time." Pale’s prior warning still echoed in his mind. I will, I will.

"Shitso, eh?" Pale twisted his head sharply his yellow eyes showing a spark of anger. "It is Shisto. I have many names as I told you," Pale moved away his long legs putting quick distance between them. Rijay scampered to keep up, "You deserve better from me, I’m sorry." They walked the courtyard a light breeze hinting of cooler weather as the Sun sank low over the western rim. "So where is this Master anyway. I am ready to get started." Rijay struck a pose imitating the young master on the tapestry. Pale shook his head sadly, "This is serious business. I didn’t cross half the world for you to throw away this opportunity." Pale immediately regretted his outburst, "Your ready if ever you shall be." Pale pointed to the south at a higher peak it’s jagged formation promise of a difficult climb. "He waits for you there. At the summit. I suggest you wait until morning. In this failing light you will most likely fall off the mountain." Rijay studied the high peak nodding at Pale’s suggestion. "Won’t he come down? What about his supper?" Pale retraced his steps heading for a well that stood to one side of the courtyard. "At dusk I believe. What he eats is up to him I suspect." A rope dangled from a wooden cross section with attached handle. The tall albino began rotating the handle and the sound of splashing water could be heard far below. "Remember, you must be strong. Don’t let him intimidate you. The Master is a real character let me tell you." A bucket appeared from the deep well and Pale grabbed the handle hoisting it out. Lifting it to his lips he poured the cold spring water down his throat in huge gulps. Setting the bucket down he sighed contentedly. Rijay looked into the bucket, "You drank all that water! Shark’s breath!" He pushed the bucket off the edge and watched it swing back and forth over the dark hole. "Okay, I’ll go see him in the morning."

"Good lad. Let’s see where Mashima has us bedded down." Returning to the rock house Rijay looked over his shoulder once more contemplating the climb.

The climb was difficult. The morning sun was still a fleeting orange blush across the eastern horizon. Rijay huffed as the thin air added an extra burden to his mission. "I will. I will," he thought again. Reaching the summit he spied the Master sitting cross-legged facing the approaching sun. Behind him was a small three-walled building built out of the surrounding loose rock. One or two people might fit inside the small enclosure. Getting closer he studied the older man. The Master’s hair was long and black tied together with a loose tuft hanging from the top of his head. He wore a plain gray robe synched at the waist with a rope. He didn’t look up or indicate in any way that Rijay was there. The Master faced away from him but he could see his firm jaw was set tight as if in serious thought. Settling close by Rijay adopted the cross-legged routine and faced the morning sun. Nothing was said. Not then, not later. They both sat unmoving all day. Rijay wondered at first if the Master even noticed him there. He would take a quick glance on occasion just to be sure. He eventually concluded that this was some kind of test. Rijay was determined not to fail this first meeting. His thoughts worked their way back in time and he was remembering life as a slave. No happy thoughts could he relive. Punishment, humiliation and degradation filled his world. Brief moments of solitude high in the rigging or stolen moments while alone in his bed of filth were his shining highlights. Friends, fellow slaves were remembered. Then the hate came as vivid scenes of their deaths in gruesome manner replayed in his head. His body shook with those memories. Tears, a seldom used gland poured forth leaving dirty tracks down his chest. "I hate you all," his mind screamed. Opening his eyes the vista before him quenched all those unpleasant memories. The morning light created long shadows in the valleys and surrounding mountains. From this height he believed to see the distant hills that led to the western desert of Medina. He felt insignificant and alone in the vastness of this beauty. Yet, he was free. Because of this freedom all was now obtainable. The glorious world was filled with wonder. Rijay sat alongside the Master with a contented smile. At several points during the day his stomach rumbled and Rijay feared the Master might hear. Eventually he got bored and fought with himself over this feeling. The sun gradually crossed the sky and finally hung low in the west. The day was over and he had little to show for it. This was a waist of time he thought. As darkness began to creep into the low valleys the Master turned his head and he spoke, "You study here. I make pure." Rijay turned to look at the face of this man to stunned to speak. He could only nod yes.

When Rijay woke the next morning a fresh pair of pants and shirt lay nearby. He gratefully discarded the tattered pants and pulled on the white fabric. Sleep had been difficult. His excitement over his first or should he call it his second lesson was coming today. As he entered the main room Pale acknowledged him with the wave of a tea cup, "Come, you must eat." A tray lay upon the table the remains of a dead chicken sat gouged and abused. Stuffing in a few morsels Rijay asked between bites. "Have you seen the Master?" "He stands in the courtyard." Rijay jumped to his feet and almost made it out the door when the soft purr of Mashima’s voice froze him, "Be ready." Not entirely sure of her meaning he raced into the courtyard then slowed when he sighted the Master waiting for him a couple steps away.

The Master’s face was narrow and gaunt. No stubble of beard showed anywhere on his dark tan skin. They both stood face to face almost the same height. "Ichi-gan," Master spit out pointing to his eyes. "Must see to strike, must see to kill!" His words came in a stilted sing song voice that Rijay found hypnotic. With no warning the Master moved turning his back lifting his leg high starting his spin kick. Rijay was frozen in place captivated by the fluid movement. The blow landed hard on his jaw and sent him reeling backwards barely maintaining his balance. It would have been better if he’d gone down as the Master followed the kick with a series of quick jabs to his stomach. Breathless Rijay lay crumpled on the cold stones pain shooting through his head. "Teach you. Kill first, ask later." The Master moved away to stand facing the tall peak. Rijay tested his jaw. It wasn’t broken and neither was his belly though the chicken felt like a dead lump inside. Getting to his feet he growled trying to minimize the pain. "Show me," he said simply to the Masters back. "Eyes!" The Master spun his hand held out in front of his face. His right foot shot up next to his raised hand. The Master sped through a series of kicks and jabs of which Rijay had never seen the like.

The intensity displayed was positively diabolical. Rijay watched mouth hung open in near disbelief. What manner of combat was this. After several minutes of complex moves the Master stopped, "You try." Rijay went into the ready position he’d seen the Master adopt. He checked the position of his feet then fell backwards as another blow landed on his chest. This one didn’t hurt but angered him, "Why…" CRUNCH A wicked blow to his larynx neatly finished his brief sentence. Eventually, Rijay regained his feet. He had suffered far more than this. Taking the position again he studied the Master’s face. His eyes were dark red points. "Eyes." Rijay stated evenly. The Master didn’t move but returned his glare. "You sore, mad, go home to mamma." Rijay stood still not answering. The Master feinted right then came in fast and low to his left. Rijay danced away avoiding the slashing jab. "Good, you learn." Rijay didn’t smile this time but kept his eyes on the Master.

"I’m leaving in the morning Rijay. Urgent matters await my attention." Pale One sat upon his bed which consisted of little more than a thin quilted rug. Rijay looked into the albino’s yellow eyes and sighed, "I shall miss having you to complain to. The Master is going to kill me yet. Shall I see you again?"

"Hard to say. If I can I will, but no promises." The youth’s long chin held stiff, "I may never leave this place. It’s been three months and in no way can I compete with the Master’s skills." Pale chuckled, "It will take years my young friend. Even then you will never be his equal. I think his body was dipped into molten lava, shaped and reformed to it’s present state. It would take an unearthly force to crack his hide." It was Rijay’s turn to laugh, "He is one tough bastard, that is no lie. I can get in a few licks now and then and it is like striking solid rock!" Both sat in silence then Pale spoke, "Don’t leave here Rijay. Not ‘til he says your ready, understood?" "And if I toss his sorry carcass off the mountain?" Pale didn’t smile, "What can I say?" "I figure your not going to tell me what your up too?" The Pale One rolled over on his side without answering.

"Get it in head. Down, stay low." Rijay kept his eyes on the Master his knees and buttocks mere inches off the ground. "Now!" Rijay sprung forward lifting high spinning into the air his body squeezed tight into a ball then landed feet first. "Nooooo!" A rock hard fist smashed into the side of his head. The blow sent him reeling into the flat stones but he rolled onto his shoulder springing up to his feet facing the Master. "Hmmm. Better next time." Rijay’s eyes slowly came into focus on his nemesis. "Think. Use fat head." Rijay nodded.

Rain fell in heavy sheets the wind slashing as lightning flashed in haphazard fashion. Rijay stood still his eyes, mind and soul a study of concentration. The Master stood in front of him mere inches away. Another blast of lightning crashed mightily and Rijay involuntarily jumped. The error cost him as a blow to the kidneys dropped him to the wet ground.

Ice covered the rocky surface as Rijay raced up the mountain. His breath came in ragged bursts. This was his third trip to the top this morning. Rounding a sharp formation of rock he slipped feet flying out from under him. Lashing out with his hands he scrambled for a crack or some kind of handhold. As his legs went over the edge he managed to grasp a small jagged fissure. He hung in midair blood coursing down his arm from his lacerated palms.

The morning air was crisp but no longer frigid. Rijay stood waiting patiently for the Master. Something was wrong. He was always here waiting for him. From behind the rock house came the Master at last holding a wooden shaft or staff. Stopping in front of Rijay he spoke, "Weapon is choice, no choice for Kenjutsu." Rijay didn’t understand him but remained frozen in place his eyes locked on the Master’s. "Katana is life and death." The wooden staff drove forward Rijay instantly reacted raising his arm to block the blow. The staff crashed into his arm with a sickening crunch. Rijay dropped to his knees holding his useless arm. "Weapon powerful," spit the Master unrelentingly.

While his arm healed Rijay studied with Mashima who taught him how to cook, bind wounds and fabricate weapons out of raw materials. "You are doing well Rijay," she cooed. "The Master has gone easy with you." Rijay looked into her eyes, "Your kidding right?" "No, he killed a student once for breaking his own wrist." Rijay looked away holding back his own thoughts on the subject.

The wooden staffs cracked together as feet flew. Around they sparred. Rijay’s arm had healed nicely and the warm summer winds brought a new vigor to his training. SLAP, POP, WHIZZ the staves made their own music under the hot sun. Later they rested Rijay happy to see the Master sweat for a change. Maybe he was improving after all.

The wooden target stood a hundred paces away. The Master stood low his right arm twisted behind his back. In one crisp movement he grabbed a steal razor sharp object out of his pant leg and hurled it at the target. SMACK! The impact rang out across the courtyard. He nailed the center driving the throwing star halfway into the hard wood. "See, easy." Rijay nodded, "Right." The Master was onto the youth’s sarcasm, "Only hurt, rarely kill. Use to run." Rijay nodded, the weapon could hamper an attacker but you couldn’t count on it killing. It was the only skill the Master taught that didn’t.

With practiced grace Rijay twirled the wooden staff around his body. A sudden lunge started another round of slash and parry routines. His face was a mask of concentration. The Master from somewhere behind him suddenly called out, "Ungh!" Twirling, the star shot from his hand and impacted the target. Rijay continued his attacks without conscious thought.

Rijay began to wonder if the Master would ever be satisfied with his training. Perhaps he would be training until the Master croaked or he did. One icy morning while he stood before the door of the house preparing to leave he heard Mashima’s voice from behind him, "You deserve this. I don’t care what that old fool thinks." He felt a warm soft cloth applied to his forehead wrapped around so the tails hung in back. "This signifies your passage. Show him now, go." Rijay walked out the door and into the courtyard. He wondered what she had gotten him into. The Master blinked when he noticed the black head band. "Oh, so you bad?!" Rijay felt a lump in his throat but made no response. "Well, we see." Master dashed inside the house and returned a few moments later carrying a large rectangular box. He placed it on the ground before Rijay. "Open." Rijay knelt before the box his eyes never leaving the Master’s. He’d learned that at least. Opening the box he hazarded at quick glance and spied two blades. They resembled the one in the tapestry. He nodded to the Master. He nodded back. Grasping the hilt of the closest blade Rijay leaped back his stance wary. The blade was quite lethal. It could decapitate easily enough he thought. The Master edged around the box withdrawing the other blade then positioned himself in front of Rijay. "Run boy!" Rijay stood his ground. One thing he wasn’t afraid of was death. With the Katana it would be swift. The Master charged driving the point straight for Rijay’s chest. With a slight foot adjustment and flick of his wrists the blow deflected away. In came the Master’s foot. He’d expected that but ignored it. Instead he lashed downward with his own sword intent on shortening the Masters stride forever. The Master’s eyes gleamed with what Rijay took for pride. Twisting away the blade fell short but the attack had been beaten. Rijay felt taller. This was good.

Rijay thought introduction of the blade would bring an end to his tenure with the Master but instead it was just the beginning. He still had much to learn. Practice with the Master continued at a high level. One day the Master waited for Rijay on the high peak. After climbing to the treacherous summit the Master motioned for Rijay to have a seat before him. "Progress slow. Need control." Rijay puzzled on this while the Master withdrew a clear crystal. He held it in both hands looking into it’s depths. As Rijay looked on the Master explained, "Contains spirit. Learn block." A voice broke over Rijay’s mind. "Bah, Someday you will be defiled and shit will rain down your throat!" Rijay broke into a cold sweat. There was no sound but still he heard. "I shalt twist you now." A throbbing pain erupted inside his head. Both hands sprang grasping to his head, the pain! Just as sudden it left him. The Master had removed the crystal. "What was that thing," Rijay croaked harshly. "I explained, spirit in crystal. Power of will corrupts. Did you hear?" Rijay nodded. "Muscle and kata good, need control. Block influence." He rapped his head with a fist. "Hah!" Rijay nodded again, "I’ve heard stories. Rumors of magical control." The Master continued, "Pass through, like water through cloth. Ignore or not, your choice." Rijay braced himself, "I’m ready." The crystal lashed out.

The vigorous years of training had changed Rijay’s appearance very little. He was taller. Now taller than the Master by two hands. His skin and muscle were hardened. He wasn’t sure by what degree. A big change was how the Master respected Rijay. No longer did he command or shout, curse or land blind blows. He bowed before him and offered advice not mandates. Rijay accepted the slow change of attitude with a sense of finality. He respected the Master. He was the father Rijay never had or could remember. Rijay’s drive and commitment to revenge had slackened over the years. The past was the past and he could not bring back the dead. He was alive. This talent he’d spent training heart and soul on developed his personality. He looked beyond himself now. There was more to the world than Rijay. He wondered how he’d seen it otherwise.

He woke to a new surprise. At his bedside lay a Katana within a sheath beaded with the bones of mountain birds. The sword was different than those he’d trained with. Drawing out of it’s sheath he realized it was an ancient weapon. Gouges and pits marked the surface and edge. At first it angered him. Give him the junk. Then another thought occurred to him and he rushed out of the house. On the peak sat the Master. A voice from behind stopped him cold, "Go now Rijay." He turned to see Mashima in the doorway. "He gave this to me?" "Yes." Rijay knew what she was going to say. "It has been in his family for over three hundred years." The news still rocked him back on his heels. "How, why?" Tears welled in Mashima’s eyes, "Go. You are done here. Go now." She turned and closed the door. Rijay couldn’t grasp this new concept. He stood frozen his gaze locked on the closed door. He was alone again. Get over it he thought.

Moving to the door he called through in little more than a whisper, "Thank you, I will miss you." Turning to the peak he held the sword over his head, "Master, Hail my Master." With head held high he turned and walked away his destination the blue and gold banner of Beor.