Chapter One
Serenity of mind was difficult to maintain as Ren eased his temple-bred gelding to a stop on the outskirts of a small village called Ita. He lowered his cowl and surveyed the sparse collection of humble dwellings that comprised the settlement. What he saw before him made little sense. It only added to the unease that had settled in his gut over the last few miles. Dozens of picks, shovels, sickles, and other tools laid beside freshly turned soil as if the villagers dropped their tools and fled all at once.
He closed his eyes and opened his body to the flowing life essence around him, even though he knew what he would find. There wasn’t a trace of human life anywhere within the range of his senses.
However, other life signatures came to him, and he took the time to sift through each, noting their position and proximity. By the time he opened his eyes again, he knew the exact variety and location of every large animal within range of his position.
He scowled and urged his gelding into the village at a trot, following the single road that cut straight through the center of the village. The modest homes were staggered just off either side of the road with haphazard placement. Thin wisps of smoke rose from some of the chimneys that jutted from the thatched roofs. They had not been vacant long.
The horse faltered and tossed its head in sudden agitation. Ren leaned forward and gave the beast a gentle pat. “Easy, boy, easy,” Ren said, his tone distracted. He chuckled to himself. “My energy is making you nervous, is it? I’m just a spooked old monk. Pay me no mind.” He shifted in his saddle. “No mind at all.”
The last building on the road was further out than the others. Ren recognized the single stone spire that rose above the sparse trees. All lesser temples were designed the exact same both outside and within, which is why the stone building looked out of place compared to the rest of the meager wooden homes in the village.
He had hoped the comfort of the familiarity of the local temple would set his nerves at ease, but it only deepened his worry as he realized he could sense none of his brethren within. They would never leave the temple abandoned, especially if they somehow gained knowledge of what was hidden within their sanctuary—or the danger of those that pursued it.
Ren dismounted at the base of the steps that led up to the wooden double doors. He didn’t bother tying the horse to the hitching post. High Temple mounts never strayed far.
Eyes locked on the arched sanctuary doors, Ren ascended the stairs and stood before the temple doors. He breathed in as far as his lungs would allow, held it in a moment, then exhaled a knot of tension. He gripped the pair of cold iron rings that hung from the polished oak doors and pulled them open—and he froze.
Ren struggled to comprehend the sight before him. As he took in the scene, his eyes grew wide, and then they grew wider as his gaze swept across the large antechamber. His legs weakened, and it was will alone that forced the contents of his belly back down from his throat. He had seen death before, but never something so depraved.
Bodies—or, parts of bodies, to be more precise—were littered throughout the sacred hall with uniform precision. Each corpse was decapitated and dismembered, then laid out on the wooden floor and arranged with the head and limbs inches from their respective torso. Dozens upon dozens of bodies, both young and old, made up the macabre sight.
It was horrible, but Ren entered the defiled temple. His goal had a new urgency.
Halfway through the room, Ren noticed the walls. He froze mid-step and cocked his head to the side, confused at what he saw. A sense of morbid wonder took hold as he tried to process what he saw. The upper torso of a man hung limp from the far wall, as if the rest of his body was somehow pushed through from the next room. On the opposite wall were three similar corpses, the worst of which had only a right arm and half of a face inside of the room. More limbs jutted from the ceiling and floor, but there was no sign of damage to any surface in the interior of the room. It was as if the corpses had melted through the rooms.
His stomach rolled again, but this time, he couldn’t stop from spewing the contents of his stomach atop the nearest dismembered corpse at his feet. Even with the horrors of the room, it was the splattering of his own waste that nearly made him turn and stumble back out of the temple. Instead, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and took a moment to steel his resolve, then made his way through the first room and into the next, where he knew the central stair was located.
The second level was less disturbing, with only the polished wooden floor littered with the rest of the bodies that he saw hanging from the ceiling on the level below. The walls and ceiling were bare, so it was easy for Ren to elevate his gaze and make his way to the end of the corridor where he would find the main meditation room.
The aged rosewood doors of the meditation room were closed shut. Ren hesitated, afraid of what he might find on the other side.
He sighed. “No sense delaying what must be done.” He pulled wide the heavy wooden doors, and once again his eyes went wide in shock.
All ten of his sisters and brothers assigned to the temple were killed, but there was no sign of the perverse butchery from below. Each had their head shaved clean, body washed, and then wrapped to the neck in fine white linen as befit a proper funeral rite. To the left of every head was a polished bronze bowl with the remnants of the waning incense. To the right of every head was the individual thread and needle that was used to close the fatal puncture wounds that littered their bodies.
He bowed and touched his index and middle fingers two inches below his navel—the physical point of essence convergence that was his spiritual center. Then he placed the fingers on the center of his forehead—the temporal point of convergence that was his mind’s eye. “I hope your releases were swift and painless, my brethren. I am sorry that I did not arrive sooner to protect you all.”
Ren breathed through the flare of anger. His brethren wore no hempen ropes around their waists. He absently ran a thumb along his own corded rope tied taut to his waist. These were healers and scholars whose sole mandate was to spread the benefits of the High Temple to every corner of Sai’ja. They would have spent their entire lives at this same temple, serving this small, insignificant village. And their purpose would have been fulfilled.
Ren grieved for his brethren, who he knew for certain never even put up a fight.
Ren walked to the center of the room. He pulled the parchment that Elder Xaoren had hand-delivered him from a pocket in his robes and read. Ren’s face melted into a frown as he tried to make sense of the short message.
Brother Ren,
Seek clarity of mind and body for guidance.
All will become clear.
Ren turned the parchment over to be sure he hadn’t missed something, then tossed the paper to the floor with a grunt of frustration. He hadn’t expected Elder Xaoren to come straight out and tell him what he was looking for, but he had expected at least something to work with. Even a hint of what the artifact was would have been a tremendous help.
How am I supposed to find something that was hidden even from my brethren who lived in this very temple?
He looked around, beyond the bodies of his brethren, and inventoried the damage. The books on the cases that lined the walls had been tossed from the shelves with utter disregard for the precious knowledge within. Each of the four deep wooden chests that lined the far wall evenly spaced from one another was upended, leaving piles of incense, meditation stones, and countless other sacred items sprawled about. Even the paintings had been ripped from the walls and torn apart.
The search appeared to be thorough. He wasn’t sure if the artifact was even still there.
Demoralized, he still searched the meditation room for well over an hour. Not a single object was special or unique to the Ita’s temple. Everything, down to the placement of the few pieces of furniture throughout the room, was the same as every other temple he had ever visited inside of Sai’ja.
He inhaled deep, held his breath, and cleansed his mind of his rising frustration with his exhale. But as he ran a hand down the length of his gray beard and took another slow survey of the room, he found his serenity slipping from his fingers.
Meditation helped him work through any trial, sometimes providing resolutions in moments of sudden enlightenment. Ren walked to the head of one of his fallen sisters and picked up the smoldering remnants of the incense. He blew on it and the ember flared to life, then walked to the lone wall-mounted censer in the room and ignited the herbs, releasing the familiar spicy fragrance that brought an immediate calm over his body.
He turned to the wall on the opposite side of the room to light the second censer and froze. The wall was blank.
Of course. He wondered how he didn’t see it immediately. The parchment told him precisely what he needed to do.
Ren walked to the blank wall, where the censer should have been, and knocked. It was solid. He resumed tapping in an ever-expanding circle, and at about thigh level, the reverberations became hallow. Ren smiled.
He pulled his hempen-wrapped fist back and brought his fist through the thick board in an explosion of wood. He ripped away the splintered wood and discovered a small bundle of wrapped cloth laying under a thick layer of dust and debris.
It turned out to be a white silk-wrapped bundle with a surprising amount of weight to it. Unwrapping it produced a circular stone disc twice the size of his fist, with dozens of fine lines cut into it, starting at the perimeter, and converging to a point in the center.
Ren took his time and wrapped the disc back inside the cloth, then slipped it inside a pocket in his robe. He glanced over his shoulder one last time, toward his fallen brothers and sisters, and bowed in respect.
* * *
For the first few miles after leaving Ita, Ren wanted nothing more than to kick his horse into a full gallop and put as much distance as possible between himself and the nightmare he left behind. He had settled instead for a steady cantor and breathed a little easier with each passing mile.
His horse began to labor under the burden. A glance up at the clear sky showed it later into the afternoon than Ren had realized. He grunted and slowed the horse to a walk and scanned the lush trees on both sides of the packed road for a good spot to rest. But a part of him wanted to continue a little further.
It wasn’t just the gruesome slaughter that added to his urgency. Someone had killed every single person in the village for the sacred artifact he now possessed. He needed to get to the safety of the High Temple as fast as possible, but he couldn’t afford to wear the beast out at the onset of the journey.
Two more miles of riding and Ren reined in, conceding any hope of finding a more suitable spot to camp. He dismounted and stretched his aching legs, relishing the feeling as the sensation returned to his numb backside. As he did back in Ita, he didn’t bother tying off the horse. It would not wander off.
Ren scooped handfuls of oats from a sack in his saddle, hand-fed the horse, and opened himself to the essence around him in search of food for himself. There was no doubt plenty of animals in the area still asleep in shallow enough burrows for him to find a meal without much trouble. The sun would not fully set for another hour at least, plenty of time to nab a few days’ worth of meat before they came out to forage under the cover of darkness.
But so far, he only sensed the vibrant essence signatures of young animals. When given the option, Ren preferred the older signatures of animals closer to the end of their natural life cycles.
He pushed his senses further, and as he neared the limits of his range, he picked up a cluster of unique essence signatures. There were a dozen in total, and they came from back in the direction he had just come. He cocked his head to the side and concentrated on trying to identify what it was that he sensed. The signature was like a human’s, but not quite the same. Plus, they moved faster than any human could without horses beneath them. He didn’t sense the signature of any animals with them.
Ren stepped to the center of the road and peered out into the distance. He panned his gaze from the far left but saw nothing. It was odd. The signatures were about a half mile out but were closing far faster than any human should. At a full gallop, on well-rested horses, it would have made sense, but he saw or sensed none.
Most confusing was that they didn’t all approach from the road. Four of the signatures did, but the rest closed in on him in a straight path that didn’t deviate for trees or rocky formations.
The hairs on the back of Ren’s neck stood on end as the signatures arrived. He should have been surrounded by figures in a tight circle around him less than twenty paces away. But both the road before him and the surrounding foliage was empty.
Experience had taught him the painful lesson of trusting his skill and temple-honed abilities beyond all else, including his logic and senses. Ren picked up a small rock near his feet and tossed it in the direction of the signature directly in front of him. He watched it fly straight through the essence signature and hit the ground in a tumble.
Something about that niggled at the back of Ren’s mind…his eyes widened as realization dawned. The stone didn’t pass through the signature; it flew over it.
Ren spun and rushed back to his gelding. He was mounted and racing down the road at a full gallop in the span of a few breaths. The signatures followed, maintaining their formation around him. The road was typically empty so far away from any major city, but Ren quested outward anyway, hoping to pick up the signatures of the Sai’jan guard patrols charged with keeping the roads safe. He sensed none.
The horse soon reached complete exhaustion. Just as Ren thought the beast would falter, one of his pursuers broke formation and closed in on him in a flash of speed. Ren felt the signature level off under the horse a moment, and then the beast crashed to a halt with such force that Ren was thrown clear over the beast’s head and a loud crack echoed from the trees.
There was a moment, as Ren was arced through the air, where the world slowed to a crawl of motion. It was an odd sensation, his body moving of its own volition while his mind processed intricate details of the world. Both of the horse’s front hooves had somehow sunk to the knees into the ground while the rear of its body pitched over its head. In his somersault, it mentally registered that the cracking sound was the horse’s legs, but he subconsciously tucked that away in his mind; it was not important. Now fully upside down, his focus sharpened instead on his own legs that were spread shoulder width apart.
And then the world came back to full speed in a rush. He shifted his weight forward and brought his knees together just in time to hit the ground. Instead of absorbing the impact, he threw his weight forward, tucked his body, and rolled end over end six full times before he dug his heels into the ground. The essence-reinforced bones and muscles of his legs flared under the strain as he slid another two dozen feet before coming to a stop, his body leaving a deep trench in the dirt the entire way.
Ren lay perfectly still, eyes wide, and listened to nothing but the sound of his heaving breaths. After a few precious seconds, he dared to stand. His left ankle was tender and his right knee buckled each time he tried to pivot, but he was standing. All in all, he was in better shape than he had any right to be, that much was certain.
Even with his back turned to his horse, Ren knew the beast would soon be dead. He sensed the beast’s life essence rapidly draining away. But turning and seeing the proof of it with his own eyes was no less jarring. Its front legs were sunken into the packed dirt of the road nearly up to its shoulders, while the rest of its body was several feet away, with its head twisted fully in the opposite direction.
Ren placed a hand on the breast pocket of his robe, probing the tablet to ensure it survived the tumble.
“I trust the artifact is still intact, brother. I had hoped that one with your skill set would not be so easily undone. I’m glad to see that I was correct in that assessment.”
Ren wasn’t caught off guard by the voice. He sensed the signatures still around him. “Reveal yourself, heretic. All of you. No more games.” Ren pulled the artifact free from his robe and held it high above his head. “This tablet is property of the High Temple. I will not hand it over willingly.”
A shadow deepened on the ground between the trunks of two trees just ahead, and then a tall figure stood as if from a crouch and walked out onto the road. It was a tall, lean figure in black wearing a demonic mask of black and red. Its long horns curved upward toward the sky, and jagged fangs protruded from its gaping maw.
“Okaji,” Ren said, his lips turned down to a sneer.
The rest revealed themselves at once, stepping from behind the trees or rising from the tall grass just off the road. They all wore various masks and weaponry, but it was the first who had risen who commanded Ren’s attention. His essence was the strongest by far.
The Okaji in red and black rested a hand on the hilt of the black sword at his waist in a non-threatening gesture. When he spoke, his voice was calm and even. “Brother, I wish no harm to come to you on this evening. Give me what we have come for and you will not be harmed. You have my word.”
Ren narrowed his eyes. “Like the innocent people of Ita? Like my brothers and sisters?”
“They were given the same chance I now offer you, brother—”
“You have no right to call me that, heretic. Your kind is unworthy of my righteous fists, but it appears I must soil them nonetheless.”
There was an audible sigh that came through the mask. “Why must it always come to this? We will kill you if we must. But, like your brethren, you will be given full rites.”
Ren shook his head. “Come now, Okaji. Surely, you—”
The Okaji in red and black waved a casual hand, and the surrounding Okaji rushed to Ren at once.
Had he been healthy, Ren had little doubt he would be more than a match for them. The pathway of the Serene Fist knew no equal. But he wasn’t at full strength, and that cast the first seeds of doubt in him. But then the Okaji drew their weapons—a mix of knives and swords, and Ren sighed in relief.
Ren kept his hands by his sides as the first two Okaji closed the distance, reaching him at the same time with matching swings of their swords that converged from opposite sides of his neck. The blades landed in unison, and his essence flared in a blinding flash of light that struck like a silent bolt of lightning. Both attacks were repelled with a force equal to that of the attackers’ effort.
Ren saw through the holes in their masks as their eyes went wide. He pivoted to his left, grabbed the collar of the closest Okaji, then thrust his palm into the center of his chest, rupturing his heart in an instant killing blow. A sharp pivot, and then he kicked out with the heel of his linen-wrapped foot, shattering the ribs of the second Okaji that had attacked with an audible crack.
Ren shifted his hips, and then whipped his still extended leg around and shattered the mask of a third Okaji who had closed the distance. The demon reached up to clutch at his ruined face, but Ren was faster. He grabbed both sides of the man’s head and twisted it. A rapid procession of satisfying pops filled the air, and the man fell lifeless to the ground as the light of his essence winked out like a candle flame.
The remaining Okaji slid to a halt just outside of striking range. They finally understood what they were up against.
“Okaji,” the one in black and red said in a calm voice. “Stow your weapons. They are of no use. He has already bested three of us, and two will not rise again. I am impressed.”
Ren gave the masked man no response, but he was thankful that his error had not cost him his advantage. The entire sequence took a heartbeat longer than it should have. And as a result, he was only able to deal death to two of the three attackers. The third, stepped from the shadow of a thick tree at the edge of the road, fully healed.
The Okaji in red and black inclined his head. “Tell me, brother. What is your name, so that I may know my opponent?”
“You are not worthy of my name, heretic, and you will not live long enough for it to matter anyway.”
“Why do you test my patience, brother? Why force any more unnecessary bloodshed?”
“If you wanted to avoid bloodshed, you would have let me be when I tried to flee. You can still avoid any more spilled if that is what you truly seek. Leave me be.”
There was a hint of annoyance in the Okaji’s voice for the first time as he spoke. “So be it. We no longer have time for this game. Okaji, retrieve the tablet.”
This time they came at him with weapons stowed, attacking all sides at once. Ren closed his eyes, removing all visual distractions, and used their essence signatures alone to detect their positioning. It was mentally taxing, but he managed to parry or deflect every oncoming strike. A few of their blows landed, mostly because he could no longer pivot right, but Ren ignored the pain and made sure to return two blows of his own in return for every one he received.
Although two more signatures winked out from his fatal strikes, it soon became clear he fought at a pace he could not sustain. As he began to tire, the Okaji pressed harder.
One Okaji over-committed with a sloppy punch, but when Ren struck out with what would have been a fatal heart strike, he was just a hair too slow. The Okaji shifted and caught him overextended, landing a kick to his belly that doubled him over and drove the wind from his lungs. Another kick landed on the side of his injured right knee, buckling the joint and bringing him down to a knee.
It was then that Ren knew he was undone. The Okaji swarmed him with a flurry of blows. A kick to his temple knocked him to his back in a sprawl.
He lay there for a moment, blinking up at the sky as the two halves of his swimming vision came back together into a single image. He lifted his head and found one of the Okaji, petite in stature, standing over him. Her blue mask was expressionless, with just a single pair of thin horns that jutted forward.
“Enough,” the man in black and red said.
“Enough?” the Okaji woman in blue asked from above him. “We have bested this monk.” She tensed, then moved with a sudden motion, bringing her fist down toward Ren’s skull.
