Savage Divinity

Standing outside in the darkness of the void, Jorani inspected the familiar surroundings of his Natal Palace for signs of intrusion. Though several weeks had passed without event, it did little to quiet his ever-present paranoia, hence his current state of heightened scrutiny. Other Martial Experts saw their Natal Palaces as a place of sanctuary in which they held absolute power, a safe haven used to escape from worldly distractions and quietly contemplate over the mysteries of the Martial Path, but not Jorani. Having spent eight weeks trapped inside a carefully crafted dream world, he found little safety or solace in his Natal Palace, because he knew all too well what powerful practitioners like the old Healer Vyakhya could do. Sure, Jorani theoretically had total control over everything inside his Natal Palace, but experience proved how easily it was to slip up and accidentally think the wrong thing, thereby freeing a captured traitor and Defiled sympathizer to link up with a crazed torturer of legend.

His Natal Palace was exactly as he’d left it, a drab rectangular room with a wooden bed, nightstand, chair, desk, and wardrobe, but this was not enough to placate Jorani’s fears. Vyakhya was a brilliant man who spent decades studying Kukku’s Talent of Dreaming, and his understanding surpassed even the Abbot’s, a man who hand-raised the giant rooster from chick to Spiritual Beast, so who knew what tricks he had up his wide, flappy sleeves? To make matters worse, by now, Vyakhya would’ve met up with the crazed and sadistic Zhen Shi, a monster who defied death for over eight-hundred years and now guided the Defiled from the shadows as their mysterious Uniter. Who could say what new skills the two might develop once they put their crazy, genius heads together? Perhaps they’d discovered a new method of Natal Palace infiltration and were now laying in wait inside that boring grey and brown room, just waiting for Jorani to step inside so they could capture him once more.

Why they might want him, Jorani wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t taking any risks. Maybe for revenge, or to convince him so they could feel better about their own decisions, or any one of a billion reasons. Crazy people were crazy because their actions defied logic, and considering he advocated for peace through the extinction of humanity, Vyakhya was most certainly crazy.

Despite all his misgivings, Jorani had no choice but to keep coming back to his Natal Palace. If he wanted to progress along the Martial Path, this was the best place to work at it, since it offered him limitless Chi, near total control over his surroundings, and almost perfect recall when he put his mind to it. In the two weeks since inadvertently stumbling across Vyakhya’s plot and discovering he had a Natal Palace, Jorani’s strength advanced by leaps and bounds as he made grand strides along the Martial Path he never imagined were even possible. Small wonder why Natal Palace Formation was the dividing line between Warrior and Expert, because the difference was like Heaven and Earth. In two weeks, he learned more than he had in the past year despite spending no small amount of time fighting on the front lines, all while still familiarizing himself with his newfangled powers.

If only the bossman hadn’t said anything about Spectres lurking in the void or Zhen Shi using Natal Palaces to snatch bodies and avoid death... How was Jorani supposed to sleep knowing that monster could come in and take over whenever he pleased?

Finding nothing amiss, Jorani summoned his courage and headed into his monastery room, his grey monk robes materializing around his gangly frame moments before setting foot inside. They were always there now, unless he made a conscious effort to make them go away, but wearing monk robes didn’t make him a eunuch any more than wearing Runic armour made him a Martial Warrior, so he left it be. Taking a seat on the wooden bed, he took a moment to grumble about the hard, uncomfortable surface despite knowing he could easily make the wood softer than a bed of feathers, but again, it hardly seemed worth the effort. A shame Vyakhya hadn’t left him well enough alone to enjoy his dreams of a hundred-woman harem, though Jorani still felt leery about indulging in a sexual fantasy induced upon him by a rooster.

Shutting out these errant thoughts before accidentally bringing his harem into existence, Jorani instead turned his mind to what he’d come here to do: practice. With an effort of will, his small rectangular room stretched and widened until it was ten times larger than before, though the furniture all remained the same size. Materializing a long, wooden bench at the appropriate range, he arranged a neat little row of twelve porcelain teacups atop it and felt the pinch of dwindling mental energy from carrying out so many tasks at once. Things would be easier if his Natal Palace would stay this size, but it wasn’t as simple as making it so, because no matter how many times he tried to keep the larger room in mind, it would always revert back to the cozy little room in the monastery the moment he stepped outside.

He’d brought these issues to Happy, but there was no easy fix to be had. If Jorani wanted a bigger Natal Palace, his best option was to craft new additions to his Natal Palace by adding the rest of the monastery, but he wasn’t as familiar or connected to the empty halls and paved courtyard as he was to his little room, so no matter how many times he tried to keep them in mind, they always disappeared the moment he left. While there was no restriction against adding rooms from different locations to his monastery room, a disjointed Natal Palace was difficult to accomplish since every detail needed to be kept in mind at all times, which was easier to accomplish when borrowing from an actual, physical location. According to Happy, most of the Brotherhood started from the courtyard where they gathered for morning chants, using the open, square layout with a pillar at each corner as the basis of crux of their Natal Palace, and perpetually chanting the Sutras in the back of their minds to keep everything intact.

Jorani tried it their way, he really did, but he found it more difficult than juggling while walking across a tightrope with your pants on fire. To win a bet, he’d actually walked three meters doing the latter before the fire got too hot to handle, but he couldn’t even go thirty seconds without losing his place in the Sutras.

The other option was to destroy his Natal Palace and reform it anew by modelling it after a different place, but not only was this risky, Jorani didn’t have anywhere else to model his Natal Palace after. He spent most of his time sitting on the sidelines during morning chants so that was out, and his childhood home dredged up too many painful memories to be used. Then after Ma died, he never stayed in one place for long, moving from one bandit hideout to the next with little rhyme or reason. The monastery had been the first place he’d ever felt truly safe and accepted, and the room became his private little sanctuary away from the horrors of war. Granted, this was a little ironic considering what happened after, but Vyakhya’s betrayal did little to lessen Jorani’s love of his mountain home nestled deep within the Arid Wastes.

Perhaps when the war was over, Jorani would go back to visit and reforge his Natal Palace, but until then, his cozy little room would have to do. Coming back to the present, he realized the room had reverted to its normal size during his fanciful musings and he cursed underneath his breath. Technically, he’d cheated his way into Expert status with help from Kukku and Vyakhya, so his Natal Palace wasn’t the most stable one out there, which meant he needed to concentrate more than most. Heaving a regretful sigh, he set about enlarging his Natal Palace once more and reformed the wooden bench with twelve porcelain teacups once again. Keeping his mind on the task at hand, he summoned his Spiritual Weapon to hand and gave it a light twirl overhead while sitting cross-legged on top of his bed. Today’s practice was about accuracy and finesse, an exercise Happy suggested and Jorani readily picked up. Whistling as it cut through the air, Jorani’s Spiritual Rope whirled overhead while he focused in on his target, the rightmost teacup sitting atop the bench. Once he was ready, he twisted his wrist and brought the rope down atop his target, shattering it with ease while leaving the bench and other cups untouched.

It always felt good to kick-start practice with success, but the exercise wasn’t over yet. This was the tricky part, bringing the rope back to hand without jostling the other teacups, and he took a steadying breath before moving forward with the next step. With a sharp flick of the wrist, the rope darted back towards him like a snake lunging at its target, controlled ever so precisely through a mixture of physical handling and metaphysical Guiding to coil neatly into his hand. It wasn’t perfect, as it stopped after a single loop leaving him with a long length of uncoiled rope to still deal with, but he found the whole process easier today than he had yesterday, so there was some progress to be had. The second teacup shattered much like the first, as did the third, but on the fourth iteration, he put too much strength into the attack and shattered the wooden bench in half. Granted, he might’ve been putting too much strength into the attack from the start, but the middle of the bench was weaker than the outer ends, which was why he started from the outside and worked his way in.

Undeterred by this failure, Jorani reformed the wooden bench and porcelain teacups before starting over from the top, all while making sure to memorize every minute detail for study after exhausting himself of all mental energy. While Chi was endlessly abundant within his Natal Palace, it didn’t mean he could practise here without cost. Instead of Chi, the cost came in the form of mental fatigue, a concept he initially scoffed at until the first time he exhausted himself training inside his Natal Palace. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before, a fog settling over his mind which left him irritable and unsettled. It wasn’t the exhaustion of a hard day’s labour, but rather like his mind shut down and no longer wanted to work, subjecting him to long bouts of unmotivated laziness and disconcerting insomnia. According to Happy, the best way to refresh one’s mental energy was to simply partake in enjoyable activities, which was why so many of the Brotherhood’s monks were so well-practised in the arts.

As for Jorani... he liked drinking, gambling, and whoring, but Happy’s disapproval was so dismal and suffocating, he kept his indiscretions to a minimum and took up running instead. Initially, he’d hated running up and down the mountain every day, but after awhile, he felt antsy and restless if he didn’t get enough kilometres in before bedtime. Besides, not only did it keep his body in peak condition, he enjoyed the surge of satisfaction which came from pushing himself past his limits, to feel his muscles aching and lungs burning but still continuing onwards until he couldn’t go on anymore.

Just like he did now, practising his control over his Spiritual Weapon until he could no longer keep his modified Natal Palace in place. One moment, he sat staring at the wooden bench several meters away, and the next he was back inside his cozy little room, where everything was almost close enough to touch from where he sat. Taking this as a sign to end practice, he stepped out of his Natal Palace and back into reality, opening his eyes to the dim interior of his yurt. Stretching his stiff muscles with a mighty yawn, he cracked his neck, shoulders, back, and fingers before heading out to check on his people and maybe find a game of dice to join before Happy showed his face, but his plans went out the window when he found the bossman sitting outside his yurt with a wildcat and the Guardian Turtle in tow.

Swallowing the trepidation which always came with facing his superiors, Jorani saluted the bossman and asked, “You lookin’ fer me, bossman? What can I do ye fer?”

“No need to salute, I’m not your superior officer anymore.” With a sheepish shrug, the bossman explained, “Actually, I’m looking for the Abbot. I kinda, sorta lost my temper and said some things I now regret, so I wanted to apologize, but he’s nowhere to be found. Couldn’t find Happy either, so I was hoping you’d know where they hang out.”

“Er... Sorry bossman. Can’t say I’ve ever had need to find em.” Usually, Jorani’s problem was getting rid of them, though the Abbot was much less intrusive than Happy. Apparently, the Brotherhood liked to pair would-be recruits with a senior monk who would show them the ropes, and in Vyakhya’s absence, Happy had stepped up to advise Jorani, but the smiling monk took his job a bit too seriously for Jorani’s tastes. The monk even insisted on sleeping in Jorani’s yurt, which wasn’t too bad since he was an officer and had a yurt to himself, but Kukku also stayed with them and the big rooster wasn’t house-trained like the bossman’s pets.

And by the Mother, that rooster stank something fierce...

“Damn.” Lips pursed in a scowl, the bossman waved Jorani over to take a seat against the Divine Turtle and said, “Well, I suppose I’ll wait here a bit and hope they show up before I fall asleep. In the meantime, why don’t we talk for a bit?”

“Whatever ye say, bossman.” Bowing ever so slightly to the Turtle, Jorani sat with his back against her leathery arm and gave Aurie a vigorous head rub which set his chest to rumbling. “What’s on yer mind?”

“Well, you told me about your stay with the Brotherhood, but we never discussed your opinion regarding them and their teachings.” Cuddling his fat rabbit close, the bossman looked younger than ever with his gaunt features and more vulnerable to boot, but Jorani still respected the man more than anyone else, Happy and Abbot included. “What’s your take on their whole... doctrine, I guess?”

“Pretty broad question to ask, but on the whole...” Jorani shrugged. “I think the world’d be a better place if more people took up some of their teachings.”

“Huh. Really?” Surprise showing plainly, the bossman scoffed and said, “The world wouldn’t last long if we all took up their teachings. If every man chopped off his dick, humanity would go extinct in a single generation.”

Annoyed by what he saw as the bossman belittling the Brotherhood’s beliefs, Jorani took a deep, calming breath before opening his mouth to reply. Then, thinking better of it, he closed his mouth and organized his thoughts before speaking because the bossman was a stubborn bastard who treated the Brotherhood with uncharacteristic hostility from day one. Happy put it best, remarking that it felt like the bossman found the concept of the Brotherhood offensive and made it his purpose to disprove their beliefs, criticizing and discrediting the Abbot every chance he got. Then again, from where he sat, Jorani felt like the Abbot wasn’t any better, arrogantly thinking that everyone who didn’t conform to the Brotherhood’s beliefs was a misguided fool doomed to eternal suffering. They were two peas in pod them, albeit ones dead set on opposing issues, and both too stubborn to ever change their views, but Jorani supposed he might as well give it a try. “Well, I said some of their beliefs for a reason,” he clarified, lowering his voice so the ladies wouldn’t overhear. “I mean, I dunno what ye might’ve heard, but I still got me twig and berries attached and mean to keep it that way.”

“I can’t blame you.” Grinning like a fiend, the bossman shook his head and said, “No idea why any man would choose otherwise. Then again, maybe they think that since life is suffering, it’d be a crime to bring new life into the world or something.”

“Nah, that ain’t it.” Shaking his head, Jorani explained, “Yer mistaken about what they mean when they say ‘life is suffering’. It don’t mean ‘all life is suffering’, because there’s a lot of good in the world too. In the Sutras, it says ‘life is impermanent’, and ‘impermanence is suffering’. Therefore, life is suffering because it is impermanent and ever-changing. Wealth, power, status, and health don’t last forever, so even though there is joy in life, things will always end in suffering. ‘Life is suffering’ doesn’t mean everything is terrible and there’s no point in existing, nor does it mean nothing we do matters, but it’s merely a reminder to strive for something better, the permanent existence which exists when one achieves Nirvana.”

Seeing the bossman’s skeptical expression, Jorani went over his old lessons for the proper explanation. “Look, the way I see it, life is suffering means ye shouldn’t focus on the wrong stuff, the impermanent stuff like wealth and whatnot. It ain’t about spreading doom and gloom, but about focusing on the Right Way, which is to be good to the people around you and all that stuff.”

“...Well, if you’re right, then I’d say the Brotherhood could use lessons on communication.”

As much as he hated to do so, Jorani couldn’t help but laugh at the bossman’s joke. “Yea, they probably could. Some of their lessons are so out there, it’s hard to wrap yer head around them.” Shaking his head, he added, “Who would’ve thought a street rat from Sanshu would be giving the Undying lessons in theology.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. Never judge a man’s worth by where he came from, but by how far he’s come.” Lightly shouldering Jorani aside, the bossman added, “And you, my friend, have come far indeed. While waiting for you to come out, I got to talking with your soldiers, and they say you made for a mighty fine sight during yesterday’s battle, splattering Defiled heads like rotten melons with your Spiritual Weapon there.”

All thanks to his practice with teacups in his Natal Palace, albeit with a Reinforcement and Amplification thrown into the mix, but his accuracy was lacking, so hence today’s efforts. “Thanks bossman, but it wasn’t much. Easier than clubbin’ fish in a barrel, what with yer sister commandin’ us the way she do.” A mighty fine commander she was, and fine to boot, a striking half-tiger with beauty enough to destroy an entire province, if not more. Hesitating to ruin the good mood, Jorani took a risk and asked, “If’n ye don’t mind me askin’, why is it ye seem so dead set against the Brotherhood? Ye don’t hafta agree with everything they preachin’, but that don’t mean ye gotta let yer discussions get so.. heated.”

His smile melting away into nothingness, the bossman silently cuddled his rabbit for long minutes before speaking up again. “Kuang Biao, take the Death Corps and report to my sister. Tell her I want all of your prying eyes and ears away from me. Then tell her to repeat what you’ve told her to me through Sending.” Ignoring the Peak Expert’s dark scowl, the bossman then asked the shadows to put up a Sound Barrier before turning back to Jorani, though he kept silent until he got the confirmation he was waiting for. “I get heated because... well because I don’t believe in the Mother.”

The revelation hit Jorani like a punch to the face, and he physically reeled back from the blow. “How can ye not? Yer the Mother’s damned chosen son, fer cryin’ out loud. Ye got the Divine Turtle followin’ ye around like a newborn pup, and... and... how?”

The clouds shifted and cast a pall over the bossman’s haunted expression as he shook his head in denial. “There’s a good explanation for Ping Ping, and everything else? All my accomplishments and achievements? That’s just plenty of hard work, dedication, and more luck than any ten men deserve. If the Mother exists, and I’m not entirely convinced she does, I don’t want anything to do with her.” Favouring Jorani with a wry smile, the bossman said, “You talk about being a street rat from Sinuji, but would you believe it if I told you I come from even more humble origins? My earliest memory is from when I was twelve years old, standing on the auction block and waiting to be sold. From there, I was shipped to a mine where the bristleboar guards worked me hard by day and tormented me by night, which I now suspect was a Defiled plot meant to farm Spectres, Defiled, and Demons. Regardless, life was truly suffering back then, and every night, as I laid my battered body down to rest, I’d pray to anyone who would listen and promise anything if they would only end my suffering.”

Falling silent, the bossman closed his eyes while reliving his memories, and Jorani knew he’d barely scratched the surface of his misery. At least now Jorani knew why the bossman hated bristleboars with a passion, and from the looks of it, the hatred was well earned. After a long pause, the bossman took a deep breath and continued. “No one ever answered my prayers, no matter how much I cried or pleaded. Eventually, I got sick and was tossed into a ditch to die, but I didn’t. I crawled up out of a pile of diseased corpses and staggered away in the cold darkness of night, then followed a river for almost twenty four hours before my sister found me. Maybe that was the Mother guiding me towards my people, but if so, it was too little too late. I survived, I escaped, and I made myself who I am today, so if the Mother wants to claim credit, She’ll have to make a personal appearance to do so, because I sure as hell won’t ever thank Her for it.”

Not sure what to say, Jorani simply patted the bossman’s shoulder and cranked his personal respect for the man to the maximum. Twelve years old and a slave, but not an Oath-bound one, which meant the bossman hadn’t been a Martial Warrior at the time, meaning he became the publicly acknowledged Number One Talent in the Empire with less than seven years of training. Had he not seen how hard the bossman pushed himself, Jorani would never believed it, but there was no doubt in his mind that Falling Rain rose to greatness on his own merits.

“Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo.” Appearing out of thin air, the Abbot bowed and said, “A touching tale, Junior Brother, but one must not allow anger to twist one’s view. Taken another way, Junior Brother’s accomplishments are so great because of his hardships, not in spite of them.”

“Yea, thanks, but no one wants to hear ‘but you suffered for a reason’.” Glaring at Abbot, the bossman added, “And stop listening in on my private conversations. It makes it really hard to trust you.”

“Apologies Junior Brother, but this monk arrived shortly after your discussion with Brother Jorani began in earnest, and since you gave no warning before divulging your secret, this monk did not think to leave.”

“...Because a Sound Barrier isn’t warning enough. Should I hang a sign outside my latrine tent that says, ‘Please don’t watch me poop’? Some things are implied.”

“Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo, this monk had no ulterior motives in remaining unseen, he only did so because he thought Junior Brother would not wish to see him.”

“You sure about that? Because I figured you were hiding out of shame. Isn’t it against your beliefs to lie, even to yourself? You should practice what you preach, Abbot.”

Seeing the two of them argue like old friends written enemies, Jorani stifled a sigh and sat utterly still while waiting for an opportunity to slip away. Their heated debates were fascinating at times, but they never went anywhere and he had no desire to be dragged in to mediate, as it was a no win situation. Regardless of whose side he took, his opinion would mean little as he’d be forced to defend his position, and in truth, it was far more effort than it was worth.

Because regardless of whether they admitted it or not, the two of them enjoyed arguing for the sake of arguing, and there was no place for logic and rationale in their discussions. Mother save us from stubborn, contrary bastards like them, but they were still two of the best men Jorani had ever met, even in spite of all their flaws.

Or maybe they were great men because of their flaws, and having risen above them... Inspired by this thought, Jorani settled down to meditate and wait out the argument inside his Natal Palace, eager to one day be a warrior strong enough to stand at their sides. Wherever Falling Rain might lead them, Jorani would follow regardless of the enemy standing in their path, because whether he believed in the Mother above or not, Jorani believed, and he knew She had picked Falling Rain as her Chosen Son.

Chapter Meme