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Chapter 15

The wet smell filling Charleston’s nose was quickly replaced by actual wetness…and a lot of it. All five senses flared alive with sensations that again disoriented him. But the water pouring down on top of him confused him most of all. It was freezing. He gasped, which only made him sputter and cough as fluid entered his lungs. He hunched over, putting his back to the torrent of the downpour, and caught his breath. Water cascaded off of his back in a multitude of little streams and rivulets. He felt something hard and rough under him. He realized he was sitting naked and cross-legged on the ground. Pain arced through his thighs.

How long have I been sitting like this? he wondered.

He opened his eyes. It was dark, but he could just make out a faint light in front of him. He sensed an open space in that direction.

He turned his head to assess his surroundings, to figure out where the water was coming from and why, but from what he could tell, he was surrounded by it. It beat at his back and head, hundreds of tiny icy daggers tearing at his skin. He didn’t know why he was in this place, in this position, but he had to get out of there. The first tinge of panic crowded the periphery of his mind. His chest began to tingle with fear.

As he went to stretch his cramped legs from under him, he froze, memory and knowledge rushing through his mind. It was just like what happened with Vanya’s consciousness. Another’s identity and life suddenly superimposed itself over Charleston’s own, threatening to erase his personality, his history, everything that made him Charleston.

But this time he was ready. He knew not to fight the onslaught of sudden and unfamiliar knowledge and experience. Rather, like the current in a river, he allowed it to carry him where it would while he held on to just enough of his own identity to remain afloat.

It was a waterfall, he realized suddenly.

He was sitting under a waterfall and he wasn’t supposed to move. The immediacy of the present moment focused his attention on the more recent of these new memories, on the why and how he came to be here.

He, he…he was Minemaru, Charleston realized, though this realization was quickly followed by another. Minemaru was just one of many names he had borne over the years. Horenbo was his most recent appellation; the one before that Nishimura Kankurô. He thought of himself as Minemaru, though, regardless of how many names he had adopted.

And he was on a pilgrimage, a mountain pilgrimage, a test of his own. He was a monk… No, he was a samurai… No, he was both. He had been on this pilgrimage for days already, longer even. He’d lost track of time. But he was nearing the end. The waterfall was the beginning of the final leg, he knew, as images of steep forest trails, jagged mountain cliffs, and cherry trees filled his mind.

More memories came to him, these more distant, from his days as a child. He was an orphan, left to survive the streets of Kaya Rikyu, the capital city of the Yamashiro Province in 16th century Japan. With this realization came a whole world of pain and suffering like he had never experienced before.

Except it was his history, his pain, his suffering. It was both familiar and shockingly foreign.

He suddenly remembered more nights than he could count spent hungry and cold, huddled in corners of allies, in abandoned buildings, even on roofs, too afraid of the other homeless children and adults prowling for food, shelter – or worse – to sleep. Yet, he couldn’t stay awake the whole night, for his days were exhausting, full of begging, searching, walking endlessly in the hopes of finding food and a safer shelter than the previous night’s. When he did sleep, he would dream about being hungry, cold, alone. And if he were lucky, he would wake up hungry, cold, and, most importantly, alone.

Charleston was shaking, but not from the cold of the waterfall. He was shaking at the memories of Minemaru’s childhood, of the times he hadn’t woken up alone, rough hands grabbing at his rags, pinning him to the ground, clamping over his mouth. He could still remember the foul odor and the taste of dirt and grime from those hands; the sharp, tearing pain in his knees and hands as they scraped across the ground as he fought back.

Charleston was reeling now, sobs over this fresh, raw pain racking his body under the icy water of the falls. The horror of these memories, so new to him at this moment, staggered his mind. The terror of the long nights threatened to engulf him, entirely erasing his own identity. He again found himself desperately seeking some memory of his own, a real memory, to hold on to, to anchor to as Minemaru’s life rushed through him. His mind went back to that day on the obstacle course.

He had finally made it to the end. It had been far and away the most difficult and lengthy course Professor Thurmond had ever given them. He had thought it over when the ball crashed into him while he was trapped in the tube. Iinstead, he had fallen to the ground below, where he had had to make his way over progressively higher walls that brought him to the next obstacle.

It had been a field of mud with razor wire stretched across it. He had to belly-crawl under the wire. Distant machine guns stood sentry, waiting for any part of him to rise high enough off the ground to come into their line of sight. When he stopped to catch his breath, the earth behind him exploded, forcing him to fight through his pain and keep moving.

But he’d made it. He’d finished the course. A yellow tube slanted steeply into a glowing pool of water, marking the end. With a whoop, he flung himself down it, letting out a scream of joy and excitement. A few seconds later, the slide spit him out into a deep pool of clear, healing water. Regeneration nanos immediately set to work on his cuts, scrapes, and sore muscles.

Charleston sunk to the bottom and hovered, limbs outstretched, the cold and the nanos washing away his exhaustion. After a moment, he swam to the top and lifted himself out onto the final platform. He was back where they had started, only he was at ground level now, rather than high up in the air where he had thought the course ended.

Professor Thurmond stepped out of the viewing room.

“Well done, Charleston,” the man said.

“Not well enough,” Charleston replied. “When did Ark finish?”

Tank smiled. “Some time ago,” he replied. “But she was disqualified for cheating.”

“What?!” Charleston was stunned. “How did she cheat?” he asked, quickly thinking back over the course to try and figure out where she could have managed it.

“That shove in the beginning,” Professor Thurmond said. “This was to be a non-contact race.”

Charleston tried to process what his Combat professor was telling him. Disqualified? That had never happened to her before.

“But that was hardly anything at all,” he replied.

“It was enough,” Thurmond replied. “You both knew the rules ahead of time. She knew better.”

Why would she knowingly break the rules? he wondered? It was very uncharacteristic of her. Of all his podmates, Savannah included, she was the least likely to do something that could be even a little bit perceived as wrong. He remembered back to the moments before the race. She had been acting funny. She’d seemed angry. That was also unlike her. They always goaded one another before a race or a fight. Why had she seemed so bothered by it this time?

“Go dry off and get to the viewing room. Savannah and Sofia are up next.”

Charleston did as he was told, but he was thinking of Ark. He needed to speak with her. As he reached the locker room, she was just leaving it. She was clean, her usually curly hair wet from the shower. When she saw him, her face hardened.

“Got so tired of losing you had to cheat?” he teased her with a smile.

“You’re such an asshole,” she said, her voice full of rage.

“Warning, language!” Apu sounded out, followed by a ping.

“What’d I do?” Charleston asked, genuinely confused. He’d wanted to make light of her disqualification, not provoke her. “Why are you angry at me?”

Arkhangelsk half snorted, half scoffed. “That’s just like you, Charleston.”

“What? Like what?”

“To be so wrapped up in your own self not to notice the people around you!”

Charleston shook his head and took a controlling breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Exactly!” Arkhangelsk shouted. “That’s exactly my point! You’re a gigantic, arrogant asshole who thinks he’s soooo good, soooo special,” she spat. “And who’s so far up his own ass, he doesn’t even notice when he’s acting like a gigantic, arrogant asshole!”

“Warning, language!” Apu said again, followed by a second ping.

Charleston blinked, unsure how to respond.

“All you do is talk trash,” she continued, and Charleston thought he heard tears in her voice. “You just needle and poke and grind people down constantly! All the time!” she shouted. “You can’t stand other people being even just as good at something as you, much less better, so you tear them down! It’s cruel and mean and, and, and I hate you!” she shouted, and now there were tears in her eyes.

“Ark,” Charleston began after a moment of shocked silence. “Ark,” he said again, trying to keep his voice calm. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I didn’t realize you were so bothered by our banter. I thought you could handle it. I won’t do it any…”

But he didn’t finish. In a flash, she grabbed his hand and twisted it painfully from her shoulder. “You thought I could handle it?!” she shouted, her voice a mask of fury and hate.

Charleston tried to yank his hand free, but her grip was too strong. “Let go of me, Ark,” he said, more confused now than before. “I didn’t…”

“I’m not the problem!” she cut him off, twisting his wrist even more, causing him to cry out. “You are! You’re the insecure jerk who makes others feel bad to feel good about yourself!”

“Ark!” he shouted. “Let go of me! I don’t know…”

Again he didn’t get to finish.

With her free hand, she lashed out at him, smashing his nose with her palm.

He staggered back, but she still held his wrist twisted painfully in her other hand.

“Warning, violence!” Apu’s voice sounded, this time followed by three pings.

Charleston recovered his balance quickly and spun towards Arkhangelsk, trying to reverse her grip on his wrist while preventing her from landing any more blows. As he did so, he aimed an elbow at her face. If she was going to start a fight, he wasn’t about to back down.

She brought a forearm up and blocked his strike, but her grip on his wrist loosened enough that he was able to break free.

“What the hell!” he said, dropping back into a crouch and wiping blood from his mouth. He didn’t wait for an answer, but instead launched himself at her, fists and feet ready. She hesitated only a moment before coming at him.

Neither landed another blow.

Apu’s blue tentacled arms snaked around both of them and separated them before the fight could continue.

“What’s going on here?” Professor Thurmond’s voice sounded from behind them.

Charleston squirmed in Apu’s grasp and saw the rest of Red Pod standing behind Thurmond, watching with surprised looks on their faces.

“She attacked me!” Charleston said.

“Because he’s an asshole!” Arkhangelsk retorted. “And an arrogant bastard!”

Someone sniggered and Thurmond turned only a little, not taking his eyes off the scene in front of him, and the laughter stopped.

“Put them down,” he commanded Apu, and Charleston and Arkhangelsk dropped to the floor. “Go back to the Staging room,” he said over his shoulder at the other podlings. Once they were gone, he stared hard back and forth between the two fighters. “Get control of your breathing,” he said.

Only then did Charleston realize his breaths were coming in short gasps. He was still furious at Arkhangelsk for what she’d done. Furious and confused. He took a few deep breaths, calming himself. He glanced at Arkhangelsk, who met his eyes with a glower full of hate and spite.

This wasn’t over, whatever this was, he thought. He took another deep breath. He felt more in control now, his breathing even.

Charleston’s breath was even now. The pain in his muscles from sitting in one position for so long had dulled. The horrid memories from Minemaru’s childhood that had threatened to erase his identity were now as distant to Charleston as they were to Minemaru, sitting under the pounding of the waterfall. The pain of them was still there deep inside of him, but it was dull now, having faded back to the recesses of his mind.

Charleston knew that he, Minemaru, held these memories at the ready, refusing to let them disappear forever into his subconscious. Instead, he would go to them, much like Charleston had just turned to his memory of his fight with Arkhangelsk, when he was under duress or needed to focus. The pain was his great motivator, Charleston realized further, suddenly sensing the anger and hatred Minemaru harbored from these experiences. He knew, then, why he was under that waterfall and on this pilgrimage. He wanted power. And he wanted revenge. Not just against any one person, but against everyone.

Memories from Minemaru’s past continued to rush through Charleston’s mind as the waterfall pounded his back and shoulders. None, though, were as disturbing or unbalancing as those childhood days on the street were. Some were even happy, though Charleston knew that Minemaru was never truly happy or at peace after what he had experienced.

He had eventually found refuge from the streets in a local temple when a kind monk named Usami stumbled across him, unconscious and bleeding, in an alley. He had nursed him back to health and treated him well. It was Minemaru’s first true home, a quiet, peaceful place shared with Usami and the other monks, gentle old men with wrinkled bodies. It was also where he first received his training in martial arts.

Minemaru, or Horenbo as he had told Usami his name was, stayed with Usami for three years. It was only when the old man told him that he hoped Minemaru would join the order that he began looking for a way out. He had much more ambitious desires than living the isolated life of a monk.

The three years under Usami’s tutelage had done little to dampen his anger, and Minemaru still sought that which he believed would protect him – money and power. He wouldn’t leave on his own, though, as doing so would once again make him vulnerable to the whims and desires of others. He was still closer to boyhood than manhood, and he would need protection until he could afford further training. And so he waited for the right opportunity. Patience came easy to him in the warm, safe temple he now called home. Years of hunger, cold, and fear made sure of this.

The temple frequently had visitors, whether a passing traveler looking for shelter for the night, a fellow monk on a pilgrimage, or a merchant selling his wares. It was to this latter group that Minemaru looked for a way out. Travelers were too risky and journeying monks could offer him nothing he didn’t already have at the temple. But a merchant would give him a means of making money. He just had to pick the right merchant.

However, taking on an apprentice or servant came at a cost that many merchants either couldn’t afford or didn’t want to pay. Most of the merchants who stopped by the temple to sell or donate their wares already had servants and guards, and so they were unlikely to take on a boy, even one soon to become a man. He continued to wait and to train.

Minemaru’s patience eventually paid off when an old oil merchant came to spend the night at the temple. His name was Mori. He had long, thin white moustaches that dropped past his chin, and a dark, kindly face full of wrinkles from long exposure to the sun. Minemaru waited until the next morning before approaching the old man. He explained to him that he was interested in learning the oil trade and was willing to work for the man for nothing more than room and board until he was able to pull his weight in the business. The old man was reluctant at first, but once Usami, at the behest of Minemaru, vouched for his work ethic and character, as well as, unbeknownst to Minemaru, said a few words about his difficult past, Mori agreed. The two left the next day.

Minemaru spent the next four years traveling around Japan, at first simply as a servant, then as an apprentice, and finally as a capable merchant who was almost as successful as his master.

These years of hard work passed through Charleston’s mind in a blink. It was an incredibly strange sensation, having another’s memories placed over one’s own. He knew everything that Minemaru knew immediately, but his mind worked linearly through the various memories to reach the present, where he still sat beneath the waterfall. Not that he was reliving all of Minemaru’s life. Most of the details of his history were blurry even to him, the way one doesn’t actively remember waking every day. He was only seeing the most important parts of Minemaru’s life, the events that impacted him the most.

Much like during the first part of the Test, Charleston had achieved a degree of equilibrium between himself and this other consciousness. He was able to be both Minemaru and himself now simultaneously, both existing in one body.

The next memory, though, nearly caused Charleston to lose his concentration and his hold on his own reality. It started as a feeling, rather than an image. He was suddenly overcome by rage, a rage so strong it caused his mind to go black. He didn’t know what had caused his anger, but he was fully tapped into the painful memories from his days on the streets, his past fueling his present rage. And as fury flowed through him, Charleston sensed another feeling, one that sickened him. Pleasure. He was delighting in this expression of his rage.

As this new feeling coursed through him in harmony with the black rage he felt, the memory began to take shape, other aspects becoming gradually clearer. He was gripping something in his hands, squeezing with all of his might. He felt the thing moving beneath him like a snake trying to slither from between his fingers. He then felt hands scratching at his arms and face.

He opened his eyes, which he realized had been closed this whole time, and saw the red face of Mori beneath him. He was kneeling over the old man, strangling the life out of him. Mori feebly clawed once more at his face, but Minemaru simply turned away, the hands left grasping at air. From the corner of his eye, Minemaru could see the now purple face of Mori, its eyes bulging bloodshot from their sockets. He felt something snap in his hands. A minute later, he released the dead man and sat back, panting heavily from the exertion and the excitement.

In his mind, Charleston was too stunned to think. He was swept along from this flash of memory to another one without really understanding what had happened or why he had killed Mori. A brief image of searching Mori’s pack for where he kept the money they made from their oil was replaced by another of walking and walking and walking.

The next memory that came to him was in another temple. He was learning to be a samurai, he realized. These memories were clear and crisp and resonated with Charleston’s own martial arts training. Days filled with training, katas, and meditation flowed into one long memory. He had spent another five years with the Kashima-Shinryu, moving up the ranks from kirigami, or pledge, to shomokuroku, apprentice, to shoden, novice initiate, all the way to the highest rank, menkyo-kaiden, which signified his mastery of all the school had to teach him.

With these memories of his time training in the art of the samurai, Charleston became suddenly aware of the deadly knowledge and capability he possessed as Minemaru. He, himself, was well trained in a variety of martial arts, but Minemaru’s training had progressed much further than his own. He had mastered not only hand-to-hand fighting, but also the sword, the bow, the spear, and half a dozen other weapons. He was a killing machine, and he was hungry for more power.

Chapter 16

He stood suddenly and tilted his head up towards the source of the waterfall. The water cascaded off of his thick muscular chest. He had come on this pilgrimage, ostensibly a spiritual journey meant to sharpen one’s focus through asceticism, because rumor spoke of supernatural powers being unlocked over the course of the weeks-long ordeal.

Standing now under the icy cold waterfall, Minemaru had yet to sense any new powers awakening inside of himself. It was true the journey had been difficult, possibly even the most difficult of his life. But so far he had gained nothing from it that he hadn’t already possessed from the many hard lessons of his past. Perhaps another would need this test to learn how to focus his mind and ignore outside distractions, but Minemaru had learned how to do that long ago.

He walked from under the falls and through the cave towards the light that marked the entrance. It wasn’t a deep cave and he quickly emerged into the noonday sun, raising a hand to shield his eyes while they readjusted.

So far this pilgrimage had been a waste of time, he thought in disgust.

It was like his time with the Kashima-Shinryu. They meditated to learn how to hone their minds and focus, but the ultimate goal, they were told, was to reach a kind of enlightenment, a oneness with the world around them. This was all fine and well as long as it pertained to combat, which it did, But as soon as they tried to make it something spiritual, something to do with some greater Truth that unites us all, Minemaru was not interested.

Teach me how to fight and kill more efficiently, but don’t bother with some higher sense of being or connection with others, he thought.

He stood naked in the sun, enjoying the warmth of its rays after the frigid water of the falls. He was nearing the end of his journey and he had learned nothing. Still, he had to know if the rumors were true before setting out on the next stage of his plan.

Minemaru put on his clothes, tied the short sword to his waist, and set off up the steep, rocky path towards the next part of this so-called pilgrimage. The path wound its way through a forest of cherry trees as it made its way to the next peak. He had so far gone up and down a whole series of mountains on his way to what he assumed was the coast, if his sense of direction hadn’t failed him yet.

The path up the mountain was little bigger than a game trail and it was steep in places. He made good time, despite the sometimes rocky, sometimes root-strewn terrain. Within an hour he had reached the next obstacle. It was a steep rock cliff, known as Kanekake Ishi, some three jos high.

Charleston instinctively understood this measurement to be about thirty feet and with this realization came another, more frightening one. He wasn’t the one guiding their shared body, not like the way he had when he’d been Vanya. Then, he had not only been able to retain his identity after the initial shock of finding his consciousness sharing the same space as another’s; he’d also been in control. He’d been able to act on his own instincts and choices, only allowing Vanya’s experiences to inform his decisions, not make them himself.

As Minemaru, though, he wasn’t making the decisions, Minemaru was. He, Charleston, was simply an observer, watching as this samurai killer examined the rock face for handholds before climbing up it.

Was this part of the test? Charleston wondered as he sought for some way to force Minemaru’s consciousness to the background. He tried to think about the first part from the point of view of his professors. What were they actually testing? He went over the events in Senate Square and the choices he’d made as Vanya. What was the point of it all? he thought. Why have me participate in a revolt in 19th century Russia? To test my leadership skills?

That made sense, but then why place him in the body of a 16th-century Japanese murderer on a quest for supernatural powers? Surely it wasn’t simply to see if he could sit calmly under a waterfall or climb a mountain.

Charleston understood.

He turned his attention to Minemaru. He tried to stop himself from climbing, willing himself to pause and rest. Nothing happened. Minemaru continued his steady, safe pace up the sheer cliff.

Charleston was unsure what to do next. There was nothing to fight against. Minemaru was not exerting a tangible will that Charleston could push back against. He was simply climbing. Charleston focused instead on his right hand, actively willing it to stop moving. Again, nothing happened. Minemaru wasn’t even breaking a sweat as he went from crevice to crack to jagged edge along the cliff’s face, easily lifting himself closer to the top, which was now less than ten feet away.

Charleston thought back to Mindfulness and Maturity class and Professor Duman’s exhortation that they focus on the candle flame. It didn’t really matter what you focused on, he’d learned later. What was important was to transcend the present, the physical, and become one with the flame. Become all things and nothing, and you will attain tranquility. Charleston had not yet mastered this in his own training, though after that day on the obstacle course where he’d barely finished due to pain and exhaustion, he’d begun putting more effort into Professor Duman’s classes than ever before.

Now, as he tried to clear his mind, he suddenly realized Minemaru was quite adept at it from his years of training in the art of the samurai. And Charleston didn’t just occupy Minemaru’s body; he had access to his mind, as well.

Charleston fought down the excitement building in him and focused. He should be able to tap into Minemaru’s knowledge and abilities much as he had known how to fire a musket, fight with a bayonet, and command men when he was Vanya. He could then use this knowledge to help gain control. As soon as he realized this, he did it. He didn’t even need the candle flame. He was one with the flame and the flame was him.

So this is what Professor Duman meant by transcendence! he thought in wonder. Not only had he never mastered the skill, he now realized, he hadn’t even been close.

His hand stopped. He was two feet from the top of the cliff and he, or they, both Charleston and Minemaru, were making the decisions. They were one and different at the same time. It was just as it was when he was Vanya, only then it hadn’t been so difficult to assert his own consciousness into the events. Now he could sense Minemaru’s thoughts, feelings, and personality. And he still had access to the latter’s abilities, but he, Charleston, was again ultimately in control.

He quickly covered the remaining distance and pulled himself up and over the cliff’s edge, his breath even and his mind calm. The path twisted steeply off to the left and Charleston set off to find the next obstacle. He walked for another hour, climbing up and over rocks, skirting around boulders, and weaving through cherry trees, but always up.

The path was eventually blocked by a giant boulder that looked as if it had been dropped by Takeminakata-no-Kami himself. It was Byodo no Iwa, the Rock of Equality.

Charleston shook his head, realizing the thought had sprung inadvertently from Minemaru’s mind. Having struggled to wrest control from the samurai, he was wary of such subconscious manifestations of the man’s own knowledge and life.

Charleston turned his attention back to the obstacle, examining the boulder for possible handholds by which he could climb up and over it. Unfortunately, there were none, the rock appearing strangely smooth and round, like the shell of a turtle. His gaze dropped from the curve of the boulder to the path in front of him. He saw that around the edge of it ran a narrow ledge, a foot wide at most. If he were to turn sideways with his back to the boulder, he could sidestep his way along it until he reached the other side.

Charleston approached the edge of the cliff where the ledge began and looked down. The drop to the valley floor below was at least a hundred jos, he estimated.

He shook his head again. Minemaru had once more taken control, however briefly, and this frightened Charleston. There was something sinister and deadly about this man’s consciousness. And something powerful. Charleston thought back to the combination of rage and pleasure he’d felt as he had choked the life out of Mori. He shuddered.

Not me, Charleston thought. I didn’t do that. He did.

He once more brought to mind the candle flame and focused his concentration entirely on it. He was amazed at how, tapping into Minemaru’s own knowledge and abilities, he was easily able to clear his mind and achieve a degree of calm and balance that wasn’t there before. It made looking down the sheer face of a cliff to a valley a thousand feet below him as easy as looking at his own hand. As he stared at the valley floor, his mind at peace, he thought he could make out jagged lines of white that seemed out of place among the green shrubs clinging to the rocky ground.

They were bones, he realized. Probably the bones of those like him, trying to circumvent the Rock of Equality, only to slip and fall to their deaths on the jagged rocks below. This realization elicited not even a single twinge of fear or unease in Charleston. His focus remained unbroken. He was the mountain.

Charleston turned sideways on the ledge, pressed his back to the protruding rock face, and began slowly moving. He looked down at his feet as he shuffled along the path, scanning for cracks in the ledge where it might give way and send him plummeting to join the bones in the makeshift cemetery below. The ledge arced around the apex of the boulder before turning back towards the path and safety. Charleston paused at the midway point and looked out over the vast valley of pink that spread before him. The cherry trees were in full bloom. On the other side, another mountain range rose up in the distance.

He couldn’t help but be amazed at the view. He had never left New Washington, nor experienced anything so real or expansive as this in their various training simulations. It was incredible.

His admiration for the beauty and sublimity of the scene in front of him disappeared in a rush of fear and panic as his right foot suddenly came down on nothing but air. He felt his stomach rush to his throat as he pressed hard against the rock face, while desperately trying to shift his weight back to his left foot. He had unknowingly started moving again while staring out at the valley.

Or had it been Minemaru, again taking control while Charleston’s guard was down?

He wasn’t sure, but his breathing was coming hard and fast as his stomach settled back to its proper place. He cautiously looked down at the ledge. He had caught himself just before stepping into a gap about four feet wide that would have put an end to his pilgrimage. It looked to have been purposefully cut from the ledge, just as it turned back towards the path, as if the Yamabushi, the monks who maintained the mountain pilgrimage as part of their religious order, knew the view would be alluring to the pilgrim and would serve as a fatal temptation.

Rage flared in Minemaru’s chest at the thought that some useless ascetic almost caused his death.

Charleston shook his head again, trying to force Minemaru’s consciousness back down into his own subconscious. The rage slowly dissipated back into the low boil of anger that was so easily within Minemaru’s reach.

Charleston closed his eyes and focused on the feel of the rock, hot from the sun, behind him. He was once again able to clear his mind and transcend the present, regaining control of his body and mind. He couldn’t allow himself to think on it yet, lest he lose concentration again, but there was something about this challenge that was harder than any he had ever faced.

He opened his eyes and turned to look at the path before him. The gap in the ledge was too wide to step across. He turned his attention to the rock face that rose up above it. There was a handhold cut into the otherwise smooth surface of the stone within arm’s reach. Charleston stretched out his right hand and gripped the opening. It wasn’t a deep hole, but the bottom of it was slightly concave. With his hand awkwardly angled away from his elbow, Charleston held tightly to the rock aperture and swung his left foot around and away from the face of the boulder.

Half of his body was now suspended over nothing but air, but the dip in the handhold allowed him enough purchase to keep from falling. He was able to reach the other side of the gap in the ledge with his left foot, straddling the break and now facing the boulder. Next, he squeezed his left hand into the handhold and, with another quick motion, let go with his right while simultaneously bringing his right foot out over the valley floor below him. He spun smoothly in a half circle and came to a halt with both feet on the ledge, his back once again to the boulder, his left hand now awkwardly holding onto the handhold.

He released his grip and looked down at the ledge below him. It ran unbroken the rest of the way around the boulder. Nevertheless, Charleston didn’t take his eyes off the ground beneath him as he shuffled the remaining distance to safety. Once there, he leaned over, his hands on his knees, and collected his thoughts.

That Minemaru’s consciousness continued to assert itself against his own troubled him. He had a feeling that this was the main portion of the test, not these various obstacles. They were just distractions, something for him to focus on that would allow Minemaru’s will and consciousness the opportunity to come to the fore.

The strangest and most troubling thing of all was that Charleston knew he was in a battle with Minemaru, but there was no one and nothing to actually fight. He could only continue to focus his own thoughts and maintain an awareness of himself, while also somehow transcend the reality around him in order to keep Minemaru at bay and overcome the various physical distractions the mountainous path presented him.

Charleston felt that he was missing something, that there was something inherently contradictory about what he had to do, but he didn’t have the luxury of time to figure it out. He would have to keep moving and hope to discover the key to the paradox along the way.

He straightened up and looked at the path ahead of him. It continued its steep ascent, but Charleston could sense he was nearing the mountain’s peak. He set off at a trot, easily navigating the rough and narrow trail. He was forced to halt after only a short distance when he reached a large gap in the path. It looked as though a boulder similar in size to the Rock of Equality had fallen on the trail, but instead of coming to a rest to block it, it had continued down to the valley floor, taking the pathway with it. On the other side of the gap, some 15 feet across, the trail continued up some distance before turning to the right. He had reached Ari no Towatari, Ants Crossing.

Charleston carefully approached the edge and peered down. It was a sheer drop on either side of the gap all the way to the valley below. There was no boulder visible from above that would explain the divide, but Charleston could see the same jagged lines of white that he knew represented the failure of pilgrims before him.

He looked up at the other side. It was several feet higher than the path he was standing on. He turned to examine the rock face stretching across the opening, searching for hand- and footholds. There were some obvious places where he would find sufficient purchase to make it across. As his eyes traced the potential route, however, he realized this would-be path across dead-ended about halfway to the other side.

Charleston wondered how many of the bones below came from those who sought to traverse the gap, only to find their climb coming to an abrupt end midway across, suspended more than a thousand feet in the air. He imagined the panic this realization would cause and how much mental fortitude and focus it would require to turn back without slipping and bouncing down the cliff’s face to join the dead below.

That way was a non-starter and, while he understood that overcoming such panic would be another test for himself, he remembered one of Professor Thurmond’s many mantras. ‘The obvious path is typically the wrong one.’ Charleston laughed suddenly, the mantra triggering another memory of one of Thurmond’s favorite lessons. ‘You can’t win if you’re dead.’

Charleston turned to look at the far side of the divide, these two gems of wisdom from his Combat professor confirming his decision. He would leap the gap.

He turned and trotted back down the trail. It would be a hard jump, but he felt confident he could do it. He also sensed an overwhelming confidence coming from Minemaru’s consciousness. He had made such leaps in the past, he realized, memories of jumping from roof to roof as a homeless child flashing through his mind. Without another thought, he sprinted back up the trail, his eyes trained on the far end of the gap and his goal. He was at the edge in a moment and, with all the strength in Minemaru’s powerful body, he launched himself into the empty space over the valley below and towards the far ledge.

But something was wrong, he realized in a flash as he flew through the air.

He didn’t have time to register what had happened before he crashed chest first into the edge of the far trail. The momentum of his jump caused his body to bounce backwards off the cliff. He desperately clawed at the trail as his body began a reverse trajectory, seeking any kind of purchase in the hard, packed earth.

He was going to fall.

Just as quickly as this realization came to him, however, his hands suddenly locked onto two concave indentations, similar to the handhold above the gap in the ledge running around the Rock of Equality. His deadly momentum jerked to a halt. He didn’t wait to catch his breath, but quickly heaved himself up and over the cliff’s edge in one smooth motion. He rolled over onto his back and started, unseeing, at the sky above.

Charleston waited for the pounding in his chest to diminish before standing up. He looked back at the opposite trail below him and tried to ascertain what had gone wrong. His approach seemed solid, but his leap hadn’t catapulted him nearly far enough. He should have easily landed on his feet. He looked at the far trail’s edge and saw the rock had crumbled at the spot from which he’d leapt.

Lucky he’d found something to hold on to, he thought.

He looked down at the edge of the trail. No, not luck. There were several obvious handholds cut into the ground at various intervals in the space leading up to the edge. The Yamabushi had made them to help those who took the leap of faith. He had chosen the correct way.

Charleston continued along the ever-upward trail before him. He followed the path as it turned to the right, away from the valley and towards the ocean. As he climbed, the sky in front of him grew larger and larger, He was almost at the mountain’s peak. He was nearing the end of the pilgrimage. He knew this the same way he had known all the names of the various obstacles. They came to him from Minemaru’s consciousness.

Charleston stopped. As suddenly and inconspicuously as the beginning of the pilgrimage had been, a simple dirt path running off into the woods, the end was equally abrupt and without fanfare. One minute he was walking up the path, the next he was at the peak, the rocky path turning again to the right and downwards, signaling the beginning of the descent.

The view, though, was anything but unremarkable. The ocean spread out before him in all of its vastness as far as he could see. There was a saltiness to the air and the wind here whipped strongly at his clothing. The sun was setting out over the darkening ocean, lighting up the thick clouds in the far distance a golden-red.

A rock ledge jutted out over the ocean below and Charleston stepped onto it, soaking in the beauty of the scene before him, letting his mind absorb the sights, the smells, the feel of it all.

“Your pilgrimage is nearly complete,” a voice from behind shocked him out of his reverie. He spun, instinctively reaching for the sword at his waist.

From a hidden spot among the rocks stepped a huge man, naked except for a leather wrap around his waist, and ghostly white. His hair stuck up from his head in all directions, complementing his beard that grew long and haphazardly from his ashen face. His eyes had dark rings around them and he carried a long metal shaft and a coil of rope. He was goki, Charleston knew, one of the leaders of the Yamabushi.

“But there is one more obstacle you must face and it is the most important of all,” he continued, either not seeing or not caring about the potential threat of Charleston’s sword. From behind the giant man, three more similar looking men emerged from the rocks along the path down the mountain. One was carrying another metal shaft, while the other two each held a large metal disk of some kind with chains attached to it.

Charleston warily watched the men as they assembled the various objects they were carrying into what looked to be a giant scale. Once complete, the first man spoke again.

“Take your clothes off,” he commanded, looking at Charleston with fierce eyes.

Rage unexpectedly flared in Charleston’s mind, coming, he knew, from Minemaru. He mentally prepared himself for the childhood memories he was sure were the catalyst, but none came. Instead, he felt a sense of betrayal, followed by shame, as if he had just discovered a deception perpetrated against him.

Charleston pushed Minemaru’s consciousness back down. He unclasped his sword belt and pulled the tunic over his head, handing it to one of the other men who had approached him for this purpose. As he stepped out of his loose fitting pants, the goki planted the scale into the rock outcropping overlooking the ocean, one pan of the scale near the path, the other near the edge of the cliff.

“You have come on this pilgrimage to seek enlightenment through the overcoming of pain, hunger, and fear,” the first goki began. “The various trials and obstacles you have passed through have served to sharpen your mind, increase your focus, and teach you the art of nothingness. When you have achieved this state of nothingness, your mind is clear. You think of nothing and can be distracted by nothing. A clear mind is essential to a clear soul and to purity in one’s actions.” The man paused, allowing the significance of his words and this lesson to sink in. “Step on the scale,” he ordered Charleston after a moment, indicating the large metal disk.

Charleston awkwardly climbed onto the scale, causing the disk to clank heavily against the surface of the rock outcropping, while the opposite pan jerked up, chains rattling.

The goki continued. “In order to complete your enlightenment, you must be reborn.”

With these words, the other goki grabbed the beam opposite of Charleston and pulled down, lifting him in the air. He quickly grabbed hold of the chains to keep from falling over.

“In order to be reborn, you must be cleansed of your past,” the first goki continued. As if on cue, the three goki holding the opposite side of the scale turned it towards the point of the outcropping.

Before Charleston could react, he found himself suspended over the ocean thousands of feet below.

“To be cleansed of the past, you must confess your sins,” Charleston heard from the mountain peak as he stared at the foam-capped waves far below him. As he looked up at the speaker, he felt the scale drop out from under him as the three goki released their hold on the opposite pan. With no counterweight to support him, Charleston’s side of the scale plummeted with a rush towards the ocean before coming to an abrupt and painful halt. He hadn’t dropped far, but the suddenness of it caused his stomach to leap in his throat and his chest to tingle with fear.

“Confess your sins,” Charleston heard from above him. “And you will rise up a reborn man!”

The now familiar rage blossomed across Charleston’s mind, as Minemaru’s consciousness rose back to the surface.

How dare these monkish fools play confessor with me! he thought, his knuckles going white as he gripped the chains in fury.

Charleston once again pictured the flame, clearing his mind of Minemaru’s thoughts and feelings. It took more effort than before. He was physically and mentally exhausted.

“Confess!” the goki commanded again. “Or be cast down to the cleansing water below!”

Charleston’s mind raced. He couldn’t remember what sin meant, though he was certain Slive had mentioned it during History and Culture class.

Memories, Minemaru’s memories, Charleston realized, began coalescing before him. Nights of drunkenness, frequently ending in fights with other drunks or debauchery purchased with his stolen money, appeared in his mind. He blushed despite himself.

“Confess!” he heard once more.

“I have frequently overindulged in alcohol,” he heard himself say.

“How frequently?”

“Too many times to count,” Minemaru replied, no contrition in his voice.

Charleston was once again an observer, no longer in control. But it wasn’t just the nature of Minemaru’s memories that had caused him to lose his focus; he had to allow Minemaru’s consciousness a certain amount of autonomy in order to access his so-called sins and pass this last challenge.

The scale abruptly rose a foot in the air.

“Continue!” the goki’s voice came from the cliff’s edge above.

“I have lied to further my own ends,” Minemaru shouted. Flashes of memory passed Charleston’s mind, too quickly for anything to register. Lying and deceit were too commonplace in Minemaru’s life to leave any real impact.

The scale rose higher. Charleston could see the feet of the first goki.

“Continue!”

“I have stolen…many things,” Minemaru replied. This time, Charleston’s mind was filled with clearer memories, many from Minemaru’s time living on the streets as a child. Stealing was a necessity of survival, and each successful piece of bread or fruit stolen came with the animal pleasure of hunger satisfied, as well as with a joy that was unforgettable.

It was the joy of living, Charleston realized. Not in some abstract sense, but in the most literal and physical meaning possible. A piece of food stolen meant Minemaru would live another day. But there was something else there, laced through that joy of life. It was the familiar feeling of rage and anger Minemaru carried with him at all times. Anger at the life of pain and suffering fortune had given him.

The scale rose still higher. He was almost even with the cliff’s edge now.

“I have killed,” Minemaru said, his voice quiet. Again, Charleston’s mind was filled with memories, sharper and clearer than any of the previous ones. In his own mind, Charleston was prepared for this, knowing that Minemaru had strangled Mori to death.

But he wasn’t prepared for the others.

The first was just a boy, an orphan a year or two younger than him, also struggling to survive alone on the streets. Minemaru had hit him in the head with a rock and stolen his worn-out shoes and the apple the boy had squirreled away.

Charleston was stunned at the memory. It had been a murder motivated by hunger and desperation, but it had also been calculated. Minemaru had spotted the boy one day in the market and followed him for two days, learning his routine. Minemaru had waited for the boy to steal the apple from the fat merchant who always turned his back on his wares when making change in order to hide how much money he carried. He’d then followed the urchin down the alley where he was going to eat it alone and away from the eyes of the authorities. Instead, Minemaru crushed his skull in with one blow of the pointed rock he’d found just for this purpose.

He could still remember the taste of that apple, Charleston realized with a sickening feeling.

There were other street urchins, though not many, and none seemed so cold and calculating as the first. But something had awoken in Minemaru with that first killing. It was a sense of his own power, of finally wresting from fortune his own fate and path. And with that sense of power, was pleasure, the same pleasure he’d felt while killing Mori.

“Who have you killed?” the goki’s voice jolted Minemaru out of his memories.

“I have killed bandits in self defense,” he replied. It wasn’t a lie, Charleston knew, the memory of cutting down three would-be robbers on a dark road near Okayama crossing his mind’s eye. But it wasn’t the whole truth, either.

“Who else?” the goki asked, as if reading Charleston’s thoughts.

Minemaru’s own mind briefly filled with rage, though Charleston wasn’t sure its source.

“I choked the life out of a would-be assailant who sought to use me for his own sick pleasure,” Minemaru replied, his rage controlled back to a simmer. The statement was a lie, Charleston realized, as no memory of the event came to mind.

The scale rose the final distance to stop even with the cliff’s edge. “Have you any more sins to confess?” the goki asked.

“Just one,” Minemaru replied. Charleston could sense the man’s anger again flaring up, though he was calm on the surface.

The goki met Minemaru’s eyes. “Confess and be cleansed,” he said.

“I also threw four goki from a cliff,” he said, springing suddenly from the scale at the tall man standing before him.

The cliff’s edge was too far to make in a single leap, but Minemaru grabbed the cross bar of the scale above him and swung his body forward towards the rock outcropping and the ashen man standing there.

The goki was too shocked to move as Minemaru’s two feet crashed into his belly. He crumpled to the ground with a whoosh. Minemaru landed heavily on his side from his leaping kick. He quickly scrambled to his feet and turned towards the remaining three goki. They hadn’t let go of their end of the scale, as if Minemaru’s sins were still being weighed.

Minemaru was on them in an instant, easily felling one with a leg sweep, before a punch to the throat put the second down. The third goki dropped the scale and turned to run, but Minemaru leapt on his back, his hands gripping the man by his long, pointy hair. He drove the man face-first into the rocky trail with a sickening thud.

Charleston looked on as Minemaru quickly turned to the man whose feet he had swept from under him as he shakily stood. Time had slowed for Charleston, as it often did in battle. But now, rather than be a help to him as he read the terrain, anticipated his opponent’s moves, and planned his own, he felt nothing but horror at what Minemaru was doing. He was watching it all in agonizing slow motion, helpless to stop the man’s murderous rampage.

Charleston watched as Minemaru rushed back to the now standing goki, who seemed as stunned as Charleston was. In an instant, Minemaru’s hands were around the man’s throat, squeezing the life from him. Charleston’s mind worked frantically, trying to think of some way to stop Minemaru. The man’s rage and purpose were like nothing Charleston had ever felt before. It filled his mind, threatening to once again erase Charleston’s own consciousness.

The goki’s face was turning deeper and deeper shades of red, as Charleston felt his own self being choked away as well. How could he fight such will and rage when he could barely maintain his own sense of self?

As Charleston struggled against the torrent of Minemaru’s anger, he realized with a sinking feeling that this was not the first monk Minemaru had killed. He had kidnapped, tortured, and killed a Yamabushi before beginning his pilgrimage. This was where he’d learned the names of the various obstacles and the layout of the journey.

But the monk had withheld something from him, he realized, the sense of betrayal and shame coming back to him. He had not told him of the scales. With this memory, Minemaru’s rage seemed to double, filling his mind and coursing through his body like the blood in his veins.

The goki’s face was now purple, his eyes bulging and bloodshot.

Charleston felt annihilated by the murderer’s anger as it filled his mind as well. He again sought to fight it, to struggle against it, but it was too powerful, too consuming. He was losing himself in it, and he desperately sought some memory of his own to latch on to. The candle flame, he suddenly realized. Duman’s words came back to him in a rush. ‘Focus on the flame. Let if fill your mind until there is nothing else.’ But Charleston knew the flame was just a device, a point of reference on which to focus your mind.

He knew what he had to do.

Rather than fight Minemaru’s rage, he had to embrace it, to become it, to let it fill him as completely as the candle flame had filled his mind earlier. Only in this way would he be able to transcend that rage and regain control of Minemaru’s body.

Charleston let go of his struggles and focused his mind on Minemaru’s anger. He let it flood his mind. In the first moment, he felt a sense of panic as his own consciousness seemed to disappear. But then, in an instant, it was over.

He was the rage and the rage was him. He let go of the goki’s throat, the man collapsing to the ground with a gasping sound as he sucked air into his lungs.

Charleston turned to see the goki who had spoken climb to his feet and turn to face him. There was no fear in his eyes. Instead there was a look of that same transcendence Charleston felt, as the man became one with what he assumed would be his death.

In one motion, Charleston scooped up his clothes and ran down the path, away from the goki, the rock outcropping, and the weighing of his sins. As he turned once more to look out over the ocean and at the stars beginning to light up the night sky above the distant clouds, the corners of Charleston’s vision began turning black. The second part of the Test was ending.

He had made it, though whether he had passed was yet to be seen.

 

The Podkind is a science fiction/fantasy novel written by Johnny Cycles. Click here for the next installment!