Reasons

“Sometimes,” said the monk, brushing his close cropped hair, “it is right to give up the path of peace and fight. There are some reasons, many reasons in fact, when the path of war, is the right path.”

“What are those reasons?” “When should one fight?” asked the young boys in attendance.

“Ah,” He replied, quietly stroking his head again, as the slightest of smiles curled his lips up, and twinkled in his eye, “there is no answer to that question, not even the wisest can say.”

It was a cold morning, in the hills. A quiet morning, with the peaks still not ablaze with the first light of the sun, but with light, sneaking it’s way over them, into the valley. There was no breeze, not even a breath, the needles  of the pine stood still. It was a lonely place to be, for young Dema, even though he’d been up here for months now, it still felt lonely in the morning. He leant against the pine, wondering for the umpteenth time, if having some music would help him, thinking back to his flute, in the village. He would play for hours there, in those carefree months, when other boys came here to watch.

But there were no distractions allowed up in the watch post.

At the head of the valley, was a small hut. A small hut, hidden in a small copse of pine, and other trees. A hut just big enough for one boy, and no food. The food came each week from the village, dried meat, and bread, enough to get by on, and occasionally a piece of cheese, if it could be spared. The village wasn’t very rich. The village sat at near the river, at the bottom of the valley.

The watch post, with its small flet in the pine trees, was meant to look across into the next valley, from where the horsemen came. The horsemen were fierce, but not many made it to the valleys in which the people lived. Those that did though, were famished, exhausted, and reduced to animalism by hunger, and hardship. It was rumoured that they never dismounted, and rode even as they slept. They could shoot arrows from horse back, and wielded great swords with both hands from the saddle. They had deep rumbling voices, in which they would bark at each other as they attacked.

The watcher was supposed to spend his days in the trees, peering across the valley floor, watching for any sign of attack. That was all. But, it was thanks to the watchers, that many attacks by the horsemen had been defeated. A signal from the watcher, and immediately all the men in the village would rush into the trees, carrying their bows, and quivers. Silent, like ghosts, they’d wait for the train of horses to enter the slopes towards the village, and then send flight after flight of feathered death into their midst, with deadly accuracy, each horsemen as he fell, was pierced by 5 or more arrows, and not one would fall to the ground.

The mountain people hadn’t always been fiersome warriors. In fact they learn to use the bow to hunt, and developed their skill because of the awesome speed and agility of animals in the barren rocky slopes of the mountains. Some could even shoot birds in flight, naturally clumsy horsemen, riding in predictable directions, were a far easier target.

No attack had ever reached even the highest fields of the village, since the system of the watch had been instituted. In fact, the people of the village believed they were completely invincible, though they weren’t proud of it, they simply believed it. But their invincibility depended on the boy on watch, On Dema.

It had been some years since the last attack, and people were beginning to think the horsemen had forgotten the way to their village, or were just too scared to come anymore. But still the watchers took their jobs very seriously, and sat the whole day in the trees, watching tirelessly across the valley, watching every falling stone, sliding down the slopes, wondering if it had been dislodged by a horse hoof, watching every eddy of wind on the valley floor, wondering if the shape of a man on a horse would materialise out of it.

This morning, though, it didn’t seem like anyone thing, even the wind was moving across the valley, it would be too early anyway, for anyone to be out of camp. Dema leaned against the tree, and thought of the village. Today was supply day, he’d get fresh bread, and his sweetheart, had promised to slip something special for him into the parcel if she could. He wondered what it would be… something special to eat, or something of hers, to keep him company? Or maybe his flute… but no, she wouldn’t send that, that would be against the rules. 

He went back inside, he had a little time before he’d have to be up on the platform, and the room needed some straightening up, so did he. Just as the sun was finally climbing over the hills in the east, he came back out, and climbed up to the platform. With his back against the trunk, he settled down to watch, as the Sun started to peek into the valley, causing everything it touched to blaze into flame. In the afternoon, the rocks would shimmer, and he would sweat, but for now, it was a pleasant experience, as the sun warmed him up. 

He stretched his toes in its rays. Though his eyes never left the horizon, except to scan the hill tops, in case, the horsemen were using a new pass.

The sun climbed higher, the heat was beginning to become unpleasant, Dema shifted so that his back and head would be in the shade. Nothing happened, even in the late afternoon, as the sun started settling into the west, and Dema was beginning to blink against the warm drowsiness, he heard something. A sandy scraping of slipping shale, from a hillside to his left, quiet nearby.

He looked over, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand, and followed the trail of the falling stones to a ridge. And from behind the ridge, only it’s muzzle and reins visible he spotted it, a horse. He wondered if he’d been seen, but figured that would be hard. He decided to wait before he crept down from the tree to give the signal, if he was spotted before he could light the beacon, he might never get there, the horseman was definitely within range, even with one of their shorter bows. More of the horse became visible, as it climbed right to the brink of the ridge, it stood for a second, head held high, neck straight, and rider triumphant, but then it slipped. The head slumped to the ground, the rider too slumped in his saddle, bending forward, resting against the horses flank. The horse turned its head towards the slope down, and uncertain, tested the surface. 

More stones slipped down the hillside, more dust rose, more scraping wafted across the still afternoon air.

The horse bent its knees and began sliding down the decline.  Searching for footholds in the sandy slopes, it found none, but kept floundering, throwing it’s hooves in front of it, almost to break its fall. The rider clung onto the horse’s flank and neck, tossed sideways and forward every time the horse tried to find its footing, and almost falling off, as every precarious step the horse took proved false. The stone and shale they were dislodging, dislodged even more stones below, until it seemed an entire section of the hill was sliding down, like a giant wave spilling over. The dust rose higher and higher, until Dema couldn’t see what was happening.

But Dema wasn’t feeling threatened anymore, he was concerned. The rider didn’t seem very big, could have been just a boy, and he seemed really tired. The horse didn’t seem in any better condition either. They must have been on some kind of an expedition or journey, and seemed more threatened than threatening at the moment.

Wondering if they’d made it down, he waited for the dust to settle. When he could finally see again, he made out the horse, at the bottom of the slide, snorting in the dust. Slowly it rose to its feet, snorted again, and sneezed perhaps, it sounded like that at least. And it slowly started moving towards him. The rider was nowhere to be seen.

Dema rushed towards the slide, frantic, the horse walked past him, heading towards the spring, but it walked slowly and painfully, and it was still coughing up dust. At the slide, Dema started digging around frantically, but to no avail… only when he climbed up the mound of rubble that had slid down, did he see the boy’s body.

It lay next to where he’d seen the horse. It had apparently shielded the boy somehow, because he was still breathing, if very slowly, though he didn’t seem to be in pain. Dema ran to his side. The boy sat up slowly, and started coughing, he dusted the air and his clothes violently, creating a mini sandstorm of his own. Then just as Dema was getting to him, he stood up.

“Easy, easy,” Said Dema, reaching over to support him, “Ae you okay? Here take my arm.”

“Who are you?” Said the dazed boy, “what are you doing here?”

“I’m Dema, I live here, sometimes, who are you?”

“I’m Kubla, I was sent to find a village that is rumoured to be in ther next valley… is there a village there?”

Dema didn’t know what to say, obviously the boy was a scout for the horsemen, but on his own he seemed rather harmless. His clothes were made from leather, the birches, and his jacket; it was a cheap brown leather, probably only sun cured. Inside that he had a light woollen vest on. His horse had a bow and quiver, and the boy was carrying a sword on his belt. It seemed a little big for him though, according to Dema, and it had a thin, curling blade, judging by the scabbard. ‘Hmmm….’ Dema felt a voice of caution speak to him. ’This guy is looking for the village, and he’s found you, it’s not a long shot from you to the village boy. If he ever goes back, they’ll be another attack, and some killing and looting and all that. He can’t get back…’

‘Yeah okay, but what do I do about that,’ he argued with himself, ‘I can’t kill him, at least not like this! When he’s weak and hurt. He needs food and all. I’m sure we’ll figure it out when he feels better.’

‘Oh great, so you’re going to feed him up, to the point when he can actually do something to prevent being killed, before you try to kill him? I mean, if you’re going to kill him, just kill him, why bother about the right way of doing it, the result will be the same won’t it?’

‘No, the result will be very different.  Actually, if I kill him right now, while he’s holding my hand, and trying to walk, that would be cowardly.’

‘Yeah and if you wait for him to get his wits about him, before you kill him, that might be risky… or even deadly, judging by the sword this guy is carrying…’

‘Argh! Look shut up, if you wanna kill him, kill him, don’t ask me to help, I can’t.’

Naturally, the boy wasn’t killed, because, it’s hard for a part of you to coerce the rest of you into action. ‘You’ll regret this,’ was the last thing the killer in him said.

“Okay, now Kubla, I’m taking you over to my hut, you can have something to drink there, and there is some food too…”

“Oh great, I finished all my water last evening, and my food 3 days ago. They said, I’d be at the village in two 

days, I’ve been riding for 6, and there’s no sign of it. Do you know where it is.”

“Yes I do.”

“Oh great, then will you take me there?”

“No… I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because, it’s my village, if you see it, you’ll bring your horsemen with you, and they’ll try to burn it down, and steal, and take the women away. How can I let you do that, and it’s my job to warn the village if I see any horsemen.”

“Why what, happens when you see a horseman?”

“Well, we kill him.”

“Oh! Have you told them about me yet?”

“No”

“Why not…?”

“Well I only just saw you, firstly of all, and secondly, well you’re not a real horseman, you’re more of a horse boy, I guess….” He said, giving Kubla the once over, just confirming his boy-ness.

“Oh really,” Kubla had hated being treated as a boy, by his own people, so much that he’d started volunteering for the toughest missions, like this one, just to get away from all the patronising, and the jokes about how he would still have to grow into father’s sword, pun intended… but he really wasn’t going to let some kid, from another clan, call him a boy.

“I’m not a boy, I’m 16, I’m a man now, okay, and if you doubt that, I’d be more than happy to teach you.”

“Huh, teach me how?”

“With this,” said Kubla, patting the hilt of his sword. “Would you like to learn?”

“Whoa calm down kid, you’re in no condition to be fighting or anything, at least not for a while, you need to rest, and eat something first.”

The kid obviously got to Kubla, and he decided, he’d have Dema for dinner, or lunch or something, or whatever meal came after the next one, because the next one needed to real food, he was famished.

They walked over to Dema’s hut and sat down, Dema got out whatever food he had left over from the last supply drop, and they ate a frugal meal of stale bread, bits of crusty cheese and dried yak meat. To Kubla of course it tasted heavenly. Then they both went out in the sun, and Kubla slept, while Dema climbed up to the platform to watch out for horsemen, while a horseboy  slept underneath.

Kubla slept a while, but he woke up towards late afternoon, when the sun was mellowing. Already parts of the valley were in shadow, and the sun was turning orange-pick, as it stretched and prepared to go to bed, early, like all things in the hills. Dema too climbed down from the platform, and walked over to where Kubla was lying down.

Kubla was awake, his eyes open, staring into the distance, beyond the sky, and his hands were playing with the naked blade of his sword.

“So, have you rested?” Asked Dema,

“Yes, I have, have you?”

“Why would I need rest?”

“Well, just checking, you don’t right? You’re in good physical condition? No ailments, lingering injuries, stuff of that kind?”

“No, I’m good, yeah,”

“Good, then you’ll have to accept my challenge.”

“You’re challenge to do what?”

“Fight me.”

“Fight you? Why would I do that?”

“So that I don’t tell everyone where your village is, and we don’t attack it and destroy it.”

“Really? You would? I just helped you, and gave you food, and you still wanna fight me?”

“Yeah I do.”  “But why?”

“Cause you called me a boy, and I hate it when people call me a boy, and you were right, then I wasn’t ready to fight, but now I am,” and Kubla stood up, and drew his sword, and brandished it in front of him, “and I challenge you.”

“But why, okay I take back what I said about you being a boy, you’re not a boy… Happy?”

“No, I have challenged you, now you must fight, there is no other way.”

“But I don’t wanna fight you, why should I fight you?”

“What other choice do you have anyway? My sword cannot be sheathed till it has tasted blood, and you’re the only one around here. And why don’t you want to fight in the first place? That’s quite silly, actually, not wanting to fight, what is that? Who doesn’t want to fight?”

“I don’t, why should I fight? What have I got to lose? Or gain? By fighting, well, I could lose my life, but what would I gain?”

“You’d save your village, because if you win, no none would come to attack it.”

“My village doesn’t need me to save it, really, it’ll save itself, haven’t you noticed, but none of the raids in the last 6 years have succeeded, we know how to protect ourselves, your horsemen would just be slaughtered on the slopes of the hill.”

“Oh, well, then you’ll be saving the lives all my people, all those horsemen who you’d butcher, they don’t need to die, you can save their lives, by simply killing me.”

But something far more dangerous was occurring to Dema at this point. If he fought and lost, and no one warned the village, they’d be slaughtered when the horsemen came. They wouldn’t be ready, they wouldn’t stand a chance. It didn’t seem like he would really escape the fight though, Kubla seemed pretty determined to.

“Well, if you’re so sure that your people can withstand our attacks, then think about all of my people, you’ll be saving, if you kill me, they’ll not attack, they won’t die… is that a good enough reason?”

“What?! … wait a minute… I’m supposed to save your people? Why can’t you save them, by not fighting with me, and going back and telling them there is no way? What’s wrong with doing that?”

“Well, if I go back, they’ll either kill me, or exile me, if I don’t lead them here… and, well, I don’t want to go back empty handed, I’d rather go back dead… plus you insulted me, and you have to pay for the insult, and my sword is unsheathed, so I have to fight someone… Sorry, but even if you don’t want to, you’ll have to fight me.”

“What? This is insane”

“Life is insane, brother, now please can we fight, and get it over with?”

“Wha? Why… no… I don’t want to fight, wait, let me think,” Stammered Dema, very very worried now. He knew there was no way out, Kubla was determined to fight, or at least kill, even if it was in cold blood. So then? What could he do? If he killed Kubla, well that would solve all the problems, pretty easily, but if he died? The village wouldn’t have a warning at all, or anything… and to top it all, he really didn’t want to fight… it was so, well, tiring and gruesome, and painful, if you got cut, and the sword looked pretty nasty, even if Kubla seemed a little disproportioned to use it. Damn… okay… he thought, this is the best I can do.

He took a few steps back and stood as tall as he could, and spoke in his deepest voice, the one he used when talking to kids… “Okay, listen, here is the deal. You want a good fight right, an honourable one and all that?” Kubla nodded. “So then, this is what you need to let me do. I’m going to light the beacon, we have to warn of impending attack. The guys in the village will see it they’ll come up to check either this evening, early tomorrow. Of course that means that any horsemen you lead through here, if you win, will die. But you don’t seem to care about that much, do you?”

“Only cowards take thought of death when they make war, the valiant walk with it like their brother.”

“Okay, whatever that means, but, my people don’t want to be killed, or even make war, we just want to protect our families, and it’s my job to warn them about attacks, so I’m going to do that, Once I set alight the beacon, I’ll give a fight you can be proud of, if you win, or die.”

“Works for me, I can understand you want to warn your people, go do it. I’ll wait.” He thrust his sword into sand and bowed to it, as Dema walked across to the beacon and set it alight. He waited a few seconds, till he was sure that the heavy wood was burning, then returned to Kubla.

“Okay, let’s fight.” The sun had sunk quite low, it was almost kissing the hills behind them in the west. The light was already red, and the hilltops seemed ablaze. Only the highest parts of the valley still had discernible shapes and colours, the river and the lower regions were already asleep, in draperies of black and grey and silver, moving over each other.

Kubla grabbed his sword out of the mud, and twirled it over his head in an arch, chanting something, then he brought it down diagonally in front of his chest. “Don’t you have a sword?” “No, we fight with bows and these,” Said Dema, as he kicked up a staff that lay at the foot of the tree with the watching platform. As it flew up, perfectly flat into his hands, Kubla noticed it had metal tips and seemed heavy. It was made of heavy wood, not bamboo, and was about as tall as Dema’s shoulders.

Dema brought it down into the sand in front of him, and then picked it up again, and started spinning it over his wrists and then flipped it over his shoulder, he broke its arc with his left hand, and gripped it with his right, and stepped forward, bringing Kubla into striking distance.

They started circling each other. Both seizing up the weapon and stance of the other. Kubla had never fought a staff before, he could tell it was a heavy weapon, and while it wouldn’t wound him as serious as something with a blade, it could easily break bones, if wielded with enough force. And it was much longer than his sword in any case, he couldn’t stab with a curved sword, which meant, he’d have to slip through Dema’s guard and somehow slash at him.

Dema was thinking about how much he didn’t want to fight, at all. And wondering whether his signal would be seen, and what would happen if he lost. The horsemen would come, and they’d go down to the village, and they’d be defeated… it seemed quite silly really. But he also noticed, that Kubla couldn’t stab at him. So Kubla real range would be very limited. But from his stance, it was pretty clean Kubla could use a blade, and use it well. The blade seemed to be an extension of his arm, it was so light and responsive. A parry and counter, would be dangerous Dema thought, defence, while landing the opportunistic blow, would be the right strategy he thought, because if the sword penetrated his guard, well it would be all over… that sword was sharp.

They circled for some time, and then, Kubla feined a jab step forward, Dema stepped back and swung his staff down, expecting a stab, but there wasn’t one, instead, Kubla side stepped and brought his sword down in a wide sweeping slash aimed at Dema’s flank. Dema’s guard was already broken, the sword was behind his staff, but it didn’t make contact, as he stepped back again, using his backward momentum, and a flick of his wrist, he wrapped Kubla’s sword hand. The blow was sharp, and something cracked, but Kubla didn’t flinch, as he withdrew his sword, and resumed his guard.

Yeah, this guy can fight, they both thought, as they resumed circling each other.

Dema was twirling his staff around his wrists, and this time he lead, bringing his staff around in a wide arcing slog, with both hands, and all the might he could muster. Kubla tried to block it with his sword, but at the last minute Dema lowered the blow, going for Kubla’s feet instead of his side. Kubla jumped over the sweeping blow, and brought his raised his sword above his head in the same movement, bringing it down on Dema’s head. Dema side stepped, and as he heard the sword whistle past his ears, he pivoted on his left foot, and grabbed the staff across his chest, with both hands, and struck a blow to Kubla’s back. The blow landed, Kubla staggered forward, but spun around, and swung his blade as he did so, merely guessing at where Dema might be standing, behind him. Dema saw the swipe, as it swung widly, but in his direction. He put his staff between the blow and himself. The sword struck it, and wedged deep in the wood, Kubla immediately withdrew and struck again, this time Dema jumped back, and let the sword swing harmlessly in front of him, and immediately swung his staff from his left, trying to attack Kubla’s right flank, which had been left bare, momentarily. He connected with a crushing blow to Kubla’s rib cage.

This time Kubla not only flinched, but also winced. Real fights were very different to sparring sessions. With his left hand, he reached across to feel his ribs under his sword hand. It felt really bad, but he was pretty sure none had broken. Again he lead with a jab step, and slashed the sword diagonally in front of him, across Dema’s chest. Dema had to jump back, and Kubla followed him, slashing the other way, furiously, slashing Xs into the air as Dema kept retreating.

As he move backwards, Dema changed his grip on his staff, holding like a spear, he jabbed at Kubla chest, the blow landed again, and sent Kubla faltering backwards. Trying to push his advantage, Dema gripped the staff from its very tip, and swung it with both hands, over his head, and directly at Kubla’s right arm. Kubla ducked under the blow, and the staff swished over him… but the momentum of the blow was such, that Dema had to let the staff swing over his head to, bending backwards, to absorb the momentum. But that was enough, as he bent backwards, Kubla already ducking, pushed himself up, and raised his sword, in an unconventional stab. That connected with the middle of Dema’s chest, just as the straightened up with the staff raised above his head to deliver another crushing blow. Dema saw the blade as it rose to meet his chest, completely incapable to change the trajectory of either his body, or the blade, he watched it pierce his chest, in an odd painless sensation.

Then there was a moment of searing pain that he couldn’t locate within his body, before oblivion.

Down in the valley no one saw the beacon, it was already too dark, and by morning the fire had burnt down. Three days later the horsemen attacked, the village was unguarded, they got right to the wall, before an alarm was raised… but by then it was too late. The few men that tried to put up a fight were killed, the rest were rounded up in the square, and bound. They would be lead out, to be slaves of the emperor.

The Monk as he left the village, his hands bound, and head lowered, was thinking. Why didn’t Dema send word, why did he fight? There are some reasons to fight, but they are other reasons bigger than fights! But Dema, already knew that!