Savage Divinity

Though Jorani’s decision had already been made, he pretended to consider the matter of becoming an initiate for a few days more, mostly so as not to arouse suspicion. In truth, joining the Penitent Brotherhood wasn’t much different from joining a gang, or at least that’s how he saw it. You couldn’t just stroll in and ask to sign up, because whether you were talking about bandits or monks, deep down, people were a suspicious lot. Nothing put a man on their guard faster than a stranger acting overly familiar, so he needed to be welcomed in by someone they trusted, rather than ask to be let in. While the old Healer had already extended the invitation, accepting too readily might raise doubts, so what he needed to do was to make them convince him to join, rather than the reverse.

A minor difference, but sometimes it was the little things which mattered most.

Truth be told, convincing the monks was easier than Jorani thought. All he had to do was express interest by asking questions and even the most reticent and closed-lipped monks would jaw on about the benefits of joining up and how he’d fit right in with them, though no one would say exactly why. It made sense once he thought about it though, because their life wasn’t an easy one, so in a way, convincing him to join was like reaffirming their decision to do the same, though some arguments were more persuasive than others. After three days and countless sermons, Jorani figured it was about time to join the Brotherhood.

As an initiate mind you, because he’d sooner cut open his belly than cut off his cock.

There was more to becoming an initiate than the old Healer let on, including a whole ceremony where they questioned his motives and shaved his head, but having inquired about it all in advance, Jorani was adequately prepared for both. All he had to do was tell the truth, and he did. He wasn’t certain he wanted to join, but he was curious to know more. Aspects of their life truly did appeal to him, and he could see himself as a monk, though he kept mum about how he’d be a terrible monk who ate meat, drank wine, and frequented brothels. Thankfully, the Oath only required he verify he’d spoken true and didn’t ask if he spoke the entire truth, which was a pretty basic oversight in his opinion, but then again, there couldn’t possibly have been many others like him who wanted to fake their way into the Penitent Brotherhood.

Hell, the Brotherhood wanted initiates so badly, they’d forcefully conscripted the bossman sight unseen, and Jorani got the feeling that if he waited any longer, something similar might happen to him too...

Taking vows of celibacy and poverty were simple enough, since he had no way of breaking either while stuck in the Arid Wastelands, and his Oath to keep the Brotherhood’s secrets didn’t bother him in the slightest, but shaving his head almost brought Jorani to tears. By custom, he had to shave his head himself, but between the tears and quivering, he must have nicked himself a half-dozen times before Happy finally stepped in to finish the job, and the result was as horrible as Jorani imagined it. He wasn’t exactly vain, but he couldn’t get over how bumpy, uneven, and almost pointed his head looked, like he were some sort of cone-headed freak of nature, but the others assured him he would get used to it in time. At least they didn’t have anything against facial hair, so he immediately started work on growing a beard, though he still had to run a razor over his scalp every morning.

With all the pomp and ceremony out of the way, his lessons began immediately. This had been the part he dreaded the most, because he wasn’t exactly great at reading or writing, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. The monastery had a library filled with books and scrolls which he was ‘encouraged’ to peruse, but since all of the monks could recite those books’ contents from memory, most of his lessons were delivered through sermons and lectures while doing some mindless chore or another. Every morning, after meditating, self-flagellating, and eating, one of the monks would put Jorani to task chopping wood, carrying water, tilling fields, or whatnot, while educating him on whatever subject matter they’d prepared for the day, with little rhyme or reason to it all. One day, Eyebrows would go on about the principles of morality, and the next, it’d be the old Healer lecturing about the first practice of the Eight-Fold Path, the right view. Happy preferred to focus on the seventh practice, right mindfulness, while another aged ascetic Jorani had named Bones would go on and on about self-restraint and all the inadvertent evils a person might do over the course of normal life, laying out all the missteps he’d avoid by following the Eight-Fold Path.

Honestly, it all seemed so... defeatist. In the eyes of the Brotherhood, this world was a prison, one made to contain and punish their eternal souls, which seemed at odds from the loving and nurturing Mother. Their justification for this amounted to the Brotherhood was the path to salvation left here by loving Mum, meaning in order to escape this prison, one simply had to abstain from pretty much everything enjoyable. No killing obviously, but also no sex, drinking, gambling, lying, cheating, or stealing either, because all of this was self-harm and just as bad as harming others. Saving a life was good, but not if it’s a life saved through violence, which for the life of him, Jorani couldn’t understand. “So a man walks into a village carrying a sword and says, ‘I’m going to kill everyone here.’ If I walk over and knock him out, that’s bad?”

“Yes,” Happy replied, nodding as if it made perfect sense. “Violence in any form is wrong, so the right mindfulness would be to approach the man and talk him out of his violent ways.”

“What if he doesn’t say anything? Like, I come across him already chopping people up?”

“Then you can stand in front of the man and block his attacks while speaking.”

“What if he’s stronger than I am?”

“Then do what you can to help others escape.”

“What if it were Defiled instead?”

Happy’s smile faltered as if taken aback by the question, which seemed kind of odd to Jorani until the monk asked, “Do you mean the killer is Defiled, or those who are being killed are Defiled?”

“The killer, obviously. Who would ever want to save Defiled?”

Then the questions took a turn for the strange. “Are the Defiled not alive?” Happy asked, and though his smile was still there, it wasn’t as open and friendly as before. “Do they not eat and breathe the same as any other creature? Why would you not afford them the same chance at life?”

“But they’re murderous, mindless killers. Ye try savin’ em, and they’re liable to gut ye and eat ye when yer done.”

“So you think all Defiled deserve to die? A strange stance to take for someone with your history.”

“...How’s zat? I’m a soldier and killin’ Defiled is what I do. Did,” Jorani corrected, seeing Happy’s frown, but it did nothing to change the dour monk’s expression. Thinking over his words, he couldn’t understand what the issue was. He spent most of this past year fighting Defiled on the front lines, losing friends and comrades at their hands and seeing the atrocities they left behind, so why would anyone think he’d be sympathetic to the crazed bastards?

After studying Jorani for a long minute, Happy relaxed and said, “Ah, you are unaware. Strange, but these are strange times. Let us put aside discussion of the Defiled for today until this monk has had time to speak with the others. In the above scenario, a tiger would do the same, yes? Does the tiger not deserve life?”

Jorani thought about it, but nothing really changed. “It does, but so do humans. If a hunter is goin’ after a man-eatin’ tiger to keep their village safe, I can’t say it’d be right to interfere.”

“Interfering is one thing, but do you not see the wrong in your thoughts? Violence begets violence, a cycle without end.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, but pretty sure the violence ends once the tiger’s dead.” Though Happy frowned once more, he didn’t dispute the claim, so Jorani pushed his luck and continued, “Besides, ye can break it down to numbers. End one life, the tiger’s, to save who knows how many if the beastie’s got a taste fer man-flesh. Even if it eats as little as one human per year, that’s still tens, hundreds, mebbe even thousands of lives saved depending on how long the tiger lives. Not a bad trade, if ye ask me, especially since ye can’t convince no tiger to go vegetarian.”

“The tiger is merely a beast and does violence because this is simply it’s nature. One can hardly hold it up to the same moral standards as humans. Why else would beasts aspire to human form?” Sighing, Happy said, “It seems there is still much for you to learn, Brother Jorani. Let us move on. The right mindfulness means not only to be mindful of one’s thoughts, but also be conscientious in all matters. What this means...”

That was the worst part about this all. Whenever Jorani brought up a point the monks couldn’t flat out refuse, they all liked to change the subject. They wouldn’t admit he was right, and at most, they’d admit he was wrong, only they didn’t know how to explain it. Violence was wrong, no matter the circumstances, because the scriptures say so, and that was the end of that, but Jorani was never one to let up when it came to verbal sparring. After two weeks of lectures and many hours of painful research in the library, he followed the old Healer out of the monastery to a secluded clearing nearby, where the two of them Demonstrated the Forms together. Since the old Healer didn’t start the lecture, Jorani took the opportunity to ask, “You said the right view, or the right understanding is the most important part on the Eight-fold path, but how do we determine the right view? How can we be certain what we do here is correct?”

“A good question,” the old Healer replied, his wrinkled grin as likeable as ever as his knobbly fingers performed an almost casual Killing Lunge. “One few ever get around to asking. Most come here thinking we are wise and all-knowing, but if we were, then the path to salvation would be all-too-easy to reach.” Not the answer Jorani expected, but the old Healer wasn’t done. “To answer your question, the ‘right view’ doesn’t refer to seeing things correctly, but rather it means you approach matters with the correct mindset, for your experiences are shaped and affected by your thoughts and sensations. Thus, to have the right view, one must uncondition one’s mind, for human nature itself alters our perception of the truth of this world, which is why we take our vows. Tell me, what do you know of cultivation?”

Surprised by the abrupt change in topic, Jorani froze both physically and mentally as he struggled to come up with an answer, because they’d already flown far past what he prepared for. “Uhh... well I uh... I guess... ye reach fer Balance, and uh... ye know... Chi happens.”

Bursting into laughter at Jorani’s half-assed answer, the old Healer quickly stilled his mirth and cleared his throat in embarrassment. “You have this old monk’s heartfelt apologies, Brother Jorani. Your answer was genuine, if nothing else, and despite your achievements, given your past and lack of proper guidance, it should come as no surprise to learn your fundamentals are lacking, nor should it be laughed at. Come, sit and listen.”

The apology did much to soothe Jorani’s shame, and it touched him to know the old Healer genuinely cared about his feelings. Even if the monk was working against the bossman, Jorani couldn’t imagine it was for nefarious purposes, but regardless of intentions, he still prayed it wasn’t true as he sat across from the kindly old man who treated him so well. Oblivious to his inner turmoil, the old Healer patted Jorani’s cheeks and said, “Cultivation is written Xiu Zhen (修真), two words which mean little when taken apart. Xiu (修) can mean many things, such as to decorate, write, embellish, repair, nurture, or even study, while Zhen (真) can be construed as True or Truth. Thus, in simplest terms, to cultivate is to ‘nurture truth’.”

Despite all the words making sense, Jorani couldn’t wrap his mind around the concept, but the best question he could come up with was, “Err... say what?”

The old Healer tried explaining the concept in different ways, but after five or six failed attempts, he threw his hands in the air and said, “In this instance, the truth means the laws of the world, or in more simplistic terms, the laws of Heavenly Energy. Thus, cultivation is to nurture Heavenly Energy.” Grumbling he added, “It’s not entirely correct, but it’s close enough for the purposes of this discussion.”

“Fair enough.” Honestly, this last explanation made perfect sense to Jorani. Cultivation means learning to use Heavenly Energy, or at least that’s what the end goal was. How hard was that?

“Now, all cultivators ‘nurture truth’, but most approach it with the wrong view. They cultivate for strength, but strength is merely the byproduct, yet they see it as the end goal. The power of Creation itself, and the people of this world use it to hit each other harder, utter foolishness.” The old Healer’s voice dripped with scorn, but Jorani had to admit the old monk had a point. “Remember this, Brother Jorani, we of the Brotherhood cultivate so we might escape this cycle of endless death and rebirth which we are all trapped within, a world of suffering through trials and tribulations. We cultivate with the goal of leaving this mortal shell behind to ascend to a higher plane, but to succeed is no easy task. I say this not to dissuade or discourage you from trying, but to warn you of the arduous journey ahead, a path you’ve stepped foot on not entirely by choice.”

Smiling as if he knew all of Jorani’s innermost thoughts, the old Healer gestured towards the grey-washed monastery hidden behind the trees and said, “All this is to aid us along our difficult path, for in order to properly perceive the Truth, we must approach it without greed, obsession, acceptance, attachment, lust, or a thousand other ties which colour our perception, a feat not easily done. We live an ascetic life to guard against temptation, beat our flesh to punish ourselves for our errant thoughts, refrain from taking life and doing harm in order to cleanse our bodies, minds, and souls. This is our Dao, our Path, and what it means when the scriptures say to take the right view, but even this is merely the first of many steps. A lifetime of dedication is often not enough to succeed, for how can it be easy to become a Divinity? A true Divinity, mind you, not false ones like Ancestral Beasts or conceited Imperial ‘Dharma Protectors’ who shamelessly use the title for their own. Even powerful as they are, they are but mere ants when compared to the grandeur of true Divinities, the Mother and Father themselves.”

Eyes wide as saucers from the old Healer’s grand rhetoric, Jorani ruminated on the implications. “You’re saying the Brotherhood’s goal is to become Gods and rival the Mother and Father?”

“In power perhaps, but not in an antagonistic sense.” Despite his ambitious goals, the old Healer hardly looked the type to reshape creation to his whim, so if anyone were to rise to such power, he probably wouldn’t be the worst choice. “This is all merely conjecture, but who’s to say the Mother and Father were always what they are now? Perhaps they were once mere mortals like ourselves, each one championing a different school of thought, and after they both ascended beyond this world, all that remains of their legacy are fables cloaked by time and retelling with but a single kernel of truth.”

All this was too much for Jorani to handle, so the old Healer told him to go back to the Forms and meditate on what he said. Several days later, when it came time for their next private lesson out in the clearing, Jorani had still made no headway with this new knowledge, despite agonizing over it in the library and pestering the other monks with countless questions. Seeing Jorani’s eager thirst for knowledge, the old Healer gestured for him to begin the Forms and didn’t speak until he was halfway through. “Picking up from where we left off, the Brotherhood are not the only ones to understand the true meaning of cultivation. The world at large has mostly forgotten, but the Imperial Clan has not lost sight of the end goal. You spoke of the Legate, Shen ZhenWu, but did you know his name is merely a title? Shen (神), for Divine, Zhen (真) for Truth, and Wu (武) for Warrior, marking him as one who bears watching, especially if he is as young as you say. Such a title indicates he treads the Path of a Warrior and might well become a true Divinity given time, though I daresay he will at most become a failure like all the others. Do you know why?”

“...Because he lacks the right view?”

Beaming with pride, the old Healer proclaimed, “Exactly! The right view is both the simplest and most difficult step within the Eight-Fold Path, because at its very core, it is a requirement to study the Truth. This is because even though the Truth itself is immutable, our perception and understanding of the Truth is ever changing. When presented with proof, the Brotherhood will take up correct views and abandon incorrect ones, which involves long, lengthy debates on the matters in which all parties must be convinced.” Chuckling, the old Healer added, “In a way, considering the many meanings of Xiu (修), one could argue that the Truth is what we make of it.”

“The Truth is what we make of it...” That sounded pretty nice, but also a little strange.

“Indeed.” Nodding sagely, the old Healer said, “As with many things, faith and conviction are the key to success. I will not lie to you and say the Brotherhood holds all the answers, nor can I say our path is unequivocally the correct one, but I will say I truly believe that we are closest to the Truth.”

Pausing his demonstration, Jorani mopped his brow and asked, “But what if yer wrong?”

There was no frown or glower as he’d expected. Instead, the old Healer’s wrinkled smile widened even further until his eyes disappeared within the folds of skin. “Then so be it. At worst, I will have lived my life in accordance with my tastes and morals. The ascetic lifestyle appeals to me, a simplistic existence secluded in the mountains and away from the ugliness of humanity. Greed, deceit, anger, lust, and pride, though we’ve yet to wholly banish these poisons from our minds and hearts, I know I sit amongst people who strive to be better each and every day, something the Abbot seems to have forgotten in his haste to meddle in worldly affairs. Such meddling has already cost us the life of his Senior Brother, but this will not dissuade him from his foolishness, and nothing we say can sway him. Know this: the life we live here, more than anything, is what it means to be a Penitent Brother, Jorani. Even if our Path is proven flawed tomorrow, then there is nothing lost. I will continue living as I do now and ponder the mysteries of the new Path presented to us, and if it is not to my tastes, then I will strive to progress along my current Path for as far as I can.”

A stubborn stance, but almost admirable in his conviction and dedication to the cause. When the old Healer spoke of the ‘ugliness of humanity’, it made Jorani wonder what the old Healer had gone through to become so disappointed and distraught. Perhaps he lost his family, or maybe he was betrayed by someone he trusted, but whatever it was, it must have hurt deeply to drive him to such extremes.

Then again, was it really ‘extreme’? Having lived like this for almost two months now, Jorani found he rather enjoyed the simple, undemanding life. While the work was onerous and the lessons difficult, no one ever asked for more than he could give and he rarely went unsatisfied. While he still craved meat and a drink, the thrill of gambling paled in comparison to working up a good sweat while accomplishing something meaningful, even if it was as simple as gathering firewood to heat the baths or complex as replacing the roof shingles. It was peaceful here, and with no one to be afraid of and nothing to worry about, even someone as paranoid as Jorani could relax and enjoy himself.

It wasn’t half bad.

The lecture continued while Jorani practised the Forms, and the Insights flew into his head while he pondered the mysteries of the Eight-Fold Path, his strength increasing by leaps and bounds thanks to meditative introspection and insightful guidance from the Old Healer at his side. When their lesson came to an end, the wrinkled monk placed his hand on Jorani’s shoulder and said, “You’ve many questions which show you’ve put serious thought into these matters, but they also reveal your doubts.” Before Jorani could voice a denial, the old Healer sternly shook his head. “It matters not. Doubts are good, so long as you approach things with an open mind. I, and the other brothers, hold high expectations for you, because we see the signs and know you yourself have touched upon the truth, though Brother ‘Happy’ says you have no recollection of the event.”

“What do you mean I’ve touched on the Truth?” If he had, then it was barely a brush of the finger, because Jorani was as basic as one could get and still call themselves a Martial Warrior. No Aura, no Natal Palace, no nothing or anything, just a soldier and his weapon, a long, flaccid rope.

“It matters not.” Smiling, the old Healer gestured for Jorani to continue Demonstrating the Forms. “What has happened once will happen again, and then you will understand why I believe the Brotherhood is correct.”

Jorani wholeheartedly wanted this to be true, and he went over the old Healer’s every word while he went through the Forms. The goal, the Dao, the Truth, the lifestyle...

“Hang on.” Turning around, he asked, “Ye knew about the Dharmapala’s death? I thought ye said Wugang and Yelu Shi only asked to speak to the Abbot? If they told ye the Dharmapala died, then why would they need to go and find the Abbot themselves?”

“Oh?” Waving Jorani’s question aside, the old Healer continued Demonstrating the Forms, but stayed quiet for a half-second too long. “Wugang knows each monastery governs itself, and that it could be some time before I come in contact with the Abbot, so he left to contact him in person.”

“...Ye also said Wugang didn’t know there was more than one monastery.”

“Ah.” After another half-second pause, the old Healer sighed and uttered a single word.

“Shit.”

Chapter Meme