Three Riddles by Kakita Koshin
"No wall stands forever. Only duty stands forever."--Kaiu Hosaru, A Perfect Cut
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Three Riddles
by Brent Morgan/Kakita Koshin
A Ratling finds his way to the high castle of light (Kyuden Togashi/Hitomi/Hoshi) and is tested to become a monk of one of the orders.
She did not know why she had come to this place: the air was thin, and cold as winter, and the farther she climbed, there seemed to be less and less to eat and to see. The big stones just continued on, rising on above her: not for the first time she considered turning back and rushing to the lowlands, where there was so much to see and to chase and to steal.
But then she would never know just what was at the end of this trail.
And so she followed, higher and higher, until even the stunted bushes and trees dwindled and were gone. She passed the clouds, tasted them with her tongue as she moved onward, a distant, unnoticed speck to the vast world that now spread out below.
It was thus, at what she was sure was the end of the world, that she first encountered the three.
*
They sat in a circle, surrounding a small fire, seemingly ignorant to how the flames danced and died in the high winds that howled before dawn. Each was unique, and yet they wore similar trappings: the mark of some tribe from the heights of the mountain, which the explorer had never before seen. Strange swirls and markings were their markings: they transformed each man into a tapestry of color, more stark amidst the dull gray of the morning sky and the mountain's cold stone.
The first's ears were the keenest; either that or he had a sense of danger that rivaled the creature's own. He was a tall man, slim and tautly muscled, with blue eyes that were a fierce contrast to his gold and silver painted skin. "She is here," he said to the others, then rose, coiling his long braid about his neck, and then looked towards her hiding place.
She shivered despite herself, slinking back from him. This one was a warrior, and he carried a samurai's long sword.
"No, please do not go," said the second with a little chuckle, though she was still uncertain whether or not to trust the friend of the sharp sworded one. He was smaller, better fed and softer-faced than the warrior, and his markings were that of petals and clouds. "We do not wish you any harm, little one," he said, holding out his hands so that she could spy that they were empty.
The third said nothing, but merely watched the other two. He, of the three, seemed most like the small wanderer: his curiosity reflected hers, as they both watched with bright eyes. His were smaller markings, simpler and mostly hidden beneath the folds of a plain, battered brown kimono.
"Come forward, and warm yourself by the fire," the second said again, still with that smile. He could be trusted; somehow she knew that much was true.
So she came forward, slowly at first, reading the first closely; her tail twitched in readiness, her haunches tensed in case she needed to spring free. As she moved forward, the ratling could start to catch the smells that were more familiar to her in dealings with humans; the warrior had determined that she was not a threat and now smelled only of deep silence, while the second and the third both carried an air of mixed emotions, between which she could not read.
She took a place, her place, it seemed, by the fire. For a while the three sat in silence and they watched her, each of them searching the ratling with different eyes. They were skilled at this, gifted in looking, and with each moment they glimpsed something that she thought well hidden: such was the talent that lay within each set of eyes.
A coward, hiding from life in the shadows, said the eyes of the warrior.
A wanderer, without hope or home, said the soft one's eyes.
A chance for more, said the eyes of the silent, the third one. It was a question, not a judgment, and it made her body quiver with sudden fear. Once more she thought of springing up and leaving these men upon their mountain--but if she did that, she might never spy the trail again.
"What are you looking for, friend?" asked the second one, his voice seeming to mirror her own thoughts.
She was not skilled as her cousins in the language of the humans; the words twisted and caught in her craw as she spoke them, and most demanded that she repeat herself several times. So she spoke slowly, considering each word carefully, so that a pause seemed to punctuate each word. "The Trail," she said, knowing now that they lived upon it. "I must see-see what is at the end."
"The end is death," said the first without hesitation. "Death, at the ends of all things."
"As is life," spoke the second, kinder and gentler.
She thrashed her tail backwards, not pleased with their answers at all. There was something there, something past the three that was worth more to her than she had ever stolen; they were the guardians, and she would have to pass them in order to go on. Without thinking, her feet began to shuffle: the first arched one eyebrow at the motion, and she knew that she would be upon her before she could spring away.
"Three riddles," the third said, his voice deep and heavy like the stones of the great hill they sat upon. "Three answers to each. Answer them all, and we will accompany you. We will help you, so that you can see what waits at the end of this path."
She rocked back and forth, considering it for a moment. She did not trust the motives of the third one; unlike the others, he was difficult for her to read. The ones that wanted peace and war, they were driven by wants that she defined as human; the third caused her fur to twitch from the fear across her skin.
He alone she did not know, and as such, she trusted him not at all.
Behind the three, the scent of the trail beckoned. She looked at the third man, and then nodded to him.
"Then the first riddle is mine," said the tall one, the warrior, and he immediately stood, shouldering his samurai sword. "Come with me, little one, and I will ask my question." With that, he started off to the west, along the mountain, to where the path could not be seen. The other two returned to watching the fire, now ignorant to the ratling; she was not theirs to play with, until the first game was done.
She looked over them only once, in curiosity, and then sprang up after the tall man and was gone.
*
He led the ratling over the rocks and past precipices for more than an hour, his long legs matching even her quickness, his nimbleness springing him across deep chasms and scars etched into stones. Then, after many miles, the two of them sprang up onto one of the high cliffs that hung from the edge of the mountain: beneath her the ratling could see only clouds beneath them, and she wondered how it was that the bare-chested man did not seem cold.
"Go to the edge of the mountain," he told her. "Tell me what you see."
She crept forward, her claws tight against the skin of the mountain, her whiskers shaking to drive the oncoming ice away. And so she crept, cautious of the mountain, until her was able to crane her neck out and over, and from there her eyes strode to pierce through the thick, high clouds. "Tell me what you see," the first demanded from behind her, standing back near where the cliff stone met the mountainside.
"I see nothing," she told him, staring down at what she knew to be a great vastness, and yet she could see nothing at all. "The whole world runs together," she called back to the warrior, surprised and strangely elated at this unique, unseeing view. It was if the world had flowed into water--
It was then, in the midst of that water, that the ratling heard the Note of the Sword.
She hopped up and whirled to face the first, the warrior, and saw that he stood between her and the mountain, his samurai sword bright and blue in the morning sunlight. The dawn washed all color out of the figure, and framed him: he stood their, swift and terrible, the light hiding all but the light upon his sword. "My gaze is clearer," he told her from within that sun-shadow.
"I see your death, coward."
What came next was a flurry of motion: she dashed for the mountainside, to break free from him, but the warrior was too quick, and sprung upon her with his blade. He drew blood, and she tumbled backwards, leaping away from the source of pain that had bit her left arm deeply. The stones scraped her skin, but she ignored it, leaping backwards until she touched the cliff edge again. There she froze, trapped before the warrior, who considered her briefly, his curving blade bent into a sinister grin.
"I told them that you were a coward, ratling. I told them that you would never see the end of the path."
Her eyes narrowed, not at being called a coward; her people valued cunning over bravery, and it did not matter what this human thought of her ways. But that this human thought to tell her where she could and could not go, and he would not let her follow the trail to the end.
It was impossible that she would just let that happen.
She sneered at him, just another human lording himself over her, and then pried a sharp rock from the cliff edge with her small claws, holding it as she might hold a knife to one side. She leapt at him, aiming to stab his bright eyes out and then run back across the mountain--
He crushed her, striking her stone in two and bowling her over, using his free arm to seize her and squeeze at her neck as he bore her down. She shrieked, she thrashed, and she clawed at him, but his strength was terrible, and overwhelmed her, cuffing her hard with the pommel of his bright-edged sword.
He raised his blade, and aimed to kill her; at that moment, she ceased her struggles, knowing that there was nothing she could do. She looked into those eyes, eyes that had seen right through her, and had beaten her: she did not know what she was looking for, but she had already tried all that she knew.
She could not run from him. She could not fight him. And so she awaited the onset, prepared.
Then the hand froze, lessened, turned slowly from cruelty towards kindness, and she saw a smile appear on that cruel, slender face. Something passed between them, and the first's shoulder seemed to bleed in sympathy, and his legs were scratched where she had been scratched a moment before. She held her breath, thinking that any movement might again change him, but then his hand retreated, and he sealed his sword away.
"I will rest here awhile," he told her, as if that ended the matter, folding his legs and sitting near the cliff edge, tearing a bandage from his tattered pants. She looked at him, still lying where he had pinned her, until he shook his head and smiled once again. "You have passed the first test, little one. Enough cleverness to know when a fight is hopeless, and enough courage to fight when no escape remains. Enough courage to face your own death, not fearing it, even knowing you will never see the end of the path. Three answers, as was asked of you.
"There are two riddles left, little one," he continued, wrapping his wounds with a skill that seemed strange for her to see within his martial hands. "I ask only that you tell me your name before you go."
For a moment she considered not telling him, or at least lying. This man was a shaman among his people, and obviously a fierce one: who could tell whether the human could understand the power of Name? But then she remembered his sword, and smelled the blood upon his shoulder. This man was different, strange even to one that had crept and run throughout the many roads of the humans' Empire, but somehow she knew he was no taker of Name.
"Tan'chek," she told the warrior, and the first bowed to her when she did.
"My name is Hitomi Bakin. Tell my brothers that you have answered my riddle, Tan'chek."
*
And so she left the warrior in the wilderness, far from the path, and returned to the two that remained. For awhile, she considered trying to cross to the north, and avoid them, but something told her that these humans were more clever than those she had dealt with in the land beyond the mountain: they would not be so simple to fool. And so she returned, to play their game a second time, and the soft-faced human rose to meet her.
It was noon by now, and she could see him better in the daylight: his face and head were clean and freshly shaven, and the mark of the sun seemed to glitter like a bright jewel upon his skin. "Walk with me awhile," he asked her, and then started off to the east, towards the sunlight, to where Tan'chek could not see the road ahead. The ratling gave one brief, darting glance towards the third, but he only smiled; then she was gone, walking in the footsteps of the second man.
This man was not a warrior, not tall and strong as Bakin was, but Tan'chek dared not follow closely, for he seemed the type that might know some of the secret words. But he just walked in silence, until the two came to a small shrine, built of mountain stone and worn by the elements: there the second chose to sit, and peered into the darkness of the small house built to honor some human god.
"My riddle is here," he said, now speaking seriously. "Answer it truthfully and you will have passed to the third question. Fail and I will send you back the way that you have come. You have only one word, with which to give me three answers."
"What is it that all living things long to see?"
Somehow Tan'chek knew that the second would keep his promises; she had to find one word that was three answers, or else he would chase her, of call to the first to drive her back down the mountain, until she fled and lost the trail in the rocks below. So she gnashed her teeth in silent thought and watched the monk for awhile, wondering what the human meant that she must give to him three answers with one word. Humans often used "honor" as an explanation for everything, so that word had many meanings--but humans were irrational and strange creatures; hardly a good way to think of living things.
"Path," she said, startling the monk with her suddenness of her answer. He chuckled at his own surprise for a moment, and then nodded before asking that she explain.
Tan'chek did not hesitate, but spoke as quickly as she could, while the thoughts were freshest in her mind. "One is the path to Tomorrow," she started, hoping that the human could understand what Tomorrow meant. "All things walk-walk to Tomorrow, whether or not they think they know the way, whether or not they want to go."
The second looked up at the sky, almost past the heavens, as if he spied something very distant, and was considering it among the light of the sun. Then he nodded, and allowed her to continue. Tan'chek smiled, bolder now that the first answer had been accepted. She had guessed the nature of this riddle; clever words were what the soft-faced one liked best, and she could be most clever when she needed to be.
"Second is path to find better place. All things want to be fat and safe-safe and happy. Not Tomorrow," she said, waiting until he nodded, "but place-place better for today. More Nezumi look-look for this path than path of tomorrow, Tan'chek believes."
At this the second laughed loudly, and she almost leapt back from him, were it not for the pleased look in his eyes. Tan'chek remembered seeing no human that had ever shown eyes like that to her: the second one was content, wholly happy, with none of the burdens that the samurai usually carried. In her mind, Tan'chek placed the second next to Bakin for a moment--
Her decision was that the two came from different tribes.
"And the third, Tan'chek-san," he asked politely, once his laughter had echoed down the stones. His tone grew suddenly serious. "Tell me where the third path leads."
She hesitated, knowing he might dislike her answer; she thought of many clever things to dissuade him, but the second man did not look to be the type that might be fooled. For a few moments, she twitched her tail in anticipation, and thought once again about rushing back, and slipping past the third and up the mountain road.
"The third," he repeated, sternly now. "Answer me," the voice demanded, "or I will surely drive you away with fists and stones."
"Third is This Path," she said softly. He waited, and she continued, knowing that she must go all the way now. "This path like no-no path Tan'chek follow before. Different. More important. Tan'chek think This Path so important, willing to fight Bakin, willing to make words with you, willing to starve on mountainside."
She nodded as she said, "Tan'chek believe all-all things looking for This Path, somehow."
For a moment, the second looked as though he would laugh again, for his eyes still held to that guiltless, wantless joy. Then he nodded, rose and bowed to her, and pointed her back to where the path wound its way up past the clouds. "I accept your answers as truth to the riddle, Tan'chek. Tell my brother that you have answered my riddle, and he shall give you the last test."
The little ratling turned away from the monk, knowing somehow that he would not follow her back. Then she stopped, turned and regarded him for a moment, watching as the images of sunlight and flowers gleamed on his broad chest. "What is your name, second?" she asked him.
"Togashi Chikao," he told her, and bowed a final time.
*
The third it was that she feared, more than anything. Her victories against Bakin and Chikao meant nothing; it was the third that dwelled upon her, made her fur shiver and her tail lash. He alone stood between her and the chance to follow the path to fruition; surely he was most powerful of the three, the strongest and cleverest among companions that were themselves quite clever and strong.
Tan'chek crept forward to where he sat before the fire, and noticed that the third had refilled the ring of flame with fresh kindling and wood from some unseen store. Without the others, he seemed more real to the ratling: she noticed that his skin-markings were mostly hidden by his clothing, and that he still wore some hair upon the skin about his thin lips. To someone else, it would have seemed that this human was quite fat and happy, but Tan'chek knew better than that.
Here was guile, greatest treachery, and she had no choice but to face it now.
"You have answered both riddles," he said when she came near the fire, and his voice was stately, but quite simple and plain at the same time. "Now there is only the rest of the journey, but I must warn you that this path leads a difficult way--"
"Tan'chek does not fear-fear this path," she answered him. The third nodded and rose, choosing a walking stick from a bundle that lay just beyond him, and then he started walking up the mountainside. Tan'chek waited a moment, but sensed nothing, and quickly sprang up after the last guardian.
They walked for some time without speaking, before the third turned and addressed her as they moved. "My name is Hoshi Junichi, little nezumi, and I must tell you that this path will demand many things. Any you prepared to give to it these things?"
She nodded.
"Your life?" Junichi asked her.
Tan'chek remembered Bakin's samurai sword and his mercy: "Yes," she nodded once again.
"Your dreams?" Junichi asked once again, softer now, as if the journey winded him already.
Tan'chek remembered the true happiness and smile that was Chikao, and again nodded.
Junichi stopped in his tracks, but did not turned to face Tan'chek. It was not the dullness of evening upon the mountain, the time when the mingling of light and darkness seemed to wash all sound, all color, all things away. At that place in the road, there was only the question, the one that Tan'chek knew would be the last the third would have to ask.
"Your name?"
*
It was not until the dead of night that Junichi returned to the campsite, shielding his eyes from the full brightness of the orange-red flames. Neither Bakin nor Chikao looked over at him as he approached them; both monks were busily playing at a game of stones and pebbles, and only looked to the Hoshi once it was obvious who had won the day.
"She answered my riddle, all three choices chosen," Bakin said, almost proudly. "I have no doubts that Tan'chek would make for a fine companion on our path." He stopped and looked up at the moon, considering it for a moment. Even in his many battles, the Hitomi had seldom seen such bright, determined eyes.
"She left," Junichi said bluntly, breaking the light mood. "Ran away."
For a moment, the three monks just looked past the fire, down the mountain; it was obvious that neither Bakin nor Chikao had seen the ratling pass their campsite in the night, running back the way she had come. So she had fled from the path, and made her way from them another way. Perhaps she would die here, cold and alone on the mountain: but somehow that sadness escaped the three as they sat there, and considered the trials they had given, and the answers that Tan'chek had returned.
"The question of Name?" the Togashi half-asked, half-stated, his cheerful face showing a hint of sadness now. He had hoped so highly for this one--for her third answer, she had chosen The Path. No one had ever given him that answer before, not in all the Dragon's many years.
"One day, one of them will answer the last riddle," Junichi promised, bowing slightly in thanks as Bakin produced some cold rice from one of the packs nearby. By his tone, it was obvious that he had no intention of missing that day.
The other monks nodded in agreement, and then all three returned to their place upon The Path.
The Way Goes On...
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