Remember by Christopher Thomas
I see him there, standing where She stood.
He seems to dare death to take him, but knows it will not...can
The sheer strength of the Eastern winds flowing about the boy threatened
to lift his lithe body over the edge. He
could feel the whispers in the air and could sense the gentle lapping of the
waves below him with a clarity that physical sight could never give.
The Winds spoke of ancient tales full of heroism and tragedy.
They told him of lives beyond deaths and the dark rebirths of the hated
land to the south. They spoke to
him of love and honor and told him stories of respected artisans and glorious
warriors. All these thoughts filled
He remembered her...the storyteller.
He had never actually seen her, never heard her perfectly cadent voice
unfold mysteries with words, never saw the limp in her walk.
But he remembered. He could
never forget. That was his duty.
He blinks. The light blue
cloth covering his eyes was being tugged harder by the wind, but he did not
reach for it. Instead , his hands
went to the daisho that lay in front of him.
He grasped the hilt of the sword and smiled-remembering the earlier duels
with Sensei Toshiyomi. But, as
always, touching the blade brought the harsh images of death.
His eyes cringed with regret and hate.
His fists tightened-knuckles white- on the sword.
He could hear their dying screams. He
could see clearly the only image that life had ever presented to his eyes. An image of blood. An
image of destruction. A memory
forever played within the dark
limits of his "vision".
And as the single tear he shed fell to the waters below and joined the
waves, he stood holding his swords. Two
lips part as if to speak, but he can feel the touch of the Lady on them and
doesn't say a word. This was the
cliff of her demise, too. He could
feel it in his blood just as strongly as the death of the Thunder.
Just as he could fell the Emerald Champion; just as the death ... of the
Storyteller. All of the Doji were
his to see because of the Lady.
He shed his last tear for the day and thanked Doji for allowing him at
least this sight of the world. He
knows she wants him to see the pain and suffering so that he might deal with
life and sacrifice.
She made tangible, his Honor.
And when the last wind whipped the blindfold away, revealing the glossy
grey-blue eyes underneath, he didn't even reach for it.
He let her have that part of him.
He always would.
the Storyteller and the Storm."