The Path of the Silent Traveller
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Beginnings
She had been three, perhaps three and a half when her mother had taken her to the Temple. Yet she remembered every detail of that day as if it had been only a week ago. Her mother was nervous. There on the orders of her father to do something that her own culture did not embrace, did not understand. The giving away of a child so young was anathema to her own upbringing, and yet her mother had little choice. As concubine to a Kara-turan nobleman her rights were severely limited, her daughter’s even more so. Here at the Temple her daughter’s future was entirely uncertain. To not bring her here though made it certain, her father’s household could not afford a break in the line of succession, confusion over a half-blood daughter.
The Master examined her from top to toe, handed her things to hold, threw her things to catch. Asked her questions to which she only nodded or shook her head. He looked questioningly to her mother who explained hesitantly that her daughter had never spoken. The Master smiled and nodded, took it as a sign and accepted her into his embrace. It was the first time the old man hugged her, and not the last, though the next would not be for many years.
Her mother left then, tears in her eyes. She climbed back into the palanquin and the slaves lifted it and headed back down the mountain path. She watched it go and it was not until it was out of sight that one of the Masters younger students came and escorted her to the sleeping room. Her belongings were removed and burnt before her, replaced only with a simple linen shift and a knife. The knife had a blade around eight inches long, a leather wrapped hilt and was razor sharp. She cut herself twice that first day, but no-one said a word. Of course. No-one ever said a word, that was part of the Path, but she didn’t know that until her first lessons began the next day…
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The next day she was bathed, her skin oiled and she was presented to the master. An acolyte showed her how to sit, her legs crossed and her hands resting on her knees, palms upwards. No-one had yet spoken to her that day, and she was nervous. Usually people spoke to her constantly, usually trying to entice her to reply.
The Master looked at her a long moment, gathering his thoughts, ordering them and then he spoke.
“Here you have no name. None but a Master is allowed to speak and only those Masters who elect to leave the Path so that they may teach it ever do so. The Path requires silence, something you come blessed with. Do not expect special favours though. Training is hard. To learn the Path you must live it. Your training begins today. You will sit there in silence, still and calm, no matter what occurs in this room, until you are told you may rise.”It was terrifying. She sat in the middle of the tatami mat whilst the acolytes trained around her. Blades flew and span within centimetres of her. She did her best, but she was young, had not learnt the focus and calm that she would as the years past. She flinched quickly and stood, making the Bow of Contrition to the Master where he sat observing the class. He left her there for twenty minutes before telling her she could resume her seat. That was the first of a dozen such bows that first day, and the shortest.
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Time passed slowly at first. She was taught how to care for her knife, to keep it sharp and ready at all times. She learnt gradually to sit through an entire class and with the passing of a year and a half they began to teach her to use it. In all that time the only words she had heard had been “You may sit”. As she approached her second year at the Temple the Master decided she was ready to hear more…