We made ready to enter by the pond near the massive wooden door, and as if responding to my inner thoughts, the fish rose up to churn the surface and seemed to speak. They wagged impatiently as the Sea Lass scooped some dried silkworm nymphs from a small stone grotto and cast them to the hungry mob. Heads and eyes stared from under the circular green pads and pushed into the open surfaces of the pool. The image of cloud and sky disappeared from its mirrored surface, broken now by the happy undulations of both fin and body.
I hunkered close to catch a glimpse and remembered her words, âIn their own language.' I closed my eyes in concentration and strained to hear their words. I wanted desperately to understand them, for their world of water was so different from my own. At first I heard nothing, but then it came, it was not a language of words at all, but the language of gentle laughter. I was astonished, but this broke as quickly as the image of cloud and sky had broken, and my eyes now opened saw that all the gentle laughter came not from the fish, but from the lass.
She was by my side once more and only by great effort regained her composure. She knew at once what I had been trying to do, and looked at me with kindness, impressed I hoped with the sincerity of my efforts. Into my hands she placed more nymphs and worms and bid me to cast as she herself had done. Although they still did not speak, they did seem to greatly appreciate this and as the last morsel disappeared so too did they. I looked to her with eyes that still questioned, and her response was simply, “Food is a language that all creatures understand.”
We lingered there a while, the clouds of the woad blue sky visible again on the flat quiet surface. The direction of our gaze was down, but our vision did not penetrate the tranquil depths. It was thrown upwards by the dark calm water, past where the black bird flew, and up higher into the heavens that cover and protect all. But my mind still lingered on the fish, and if they could speak, wondered what lessons they would teach.
The Sea Lass broke this reverie and seemed to speak to me for them. “In my language they are called Liyu,” she said. “I think in my world they are carp,” I replied, “although I had never seen them so beautifully colored and so well behaved.” We laughed as she said the word “carp,” her lips mimicking the mouths of the ravenous fish.
We entered our home, and the Sea Lass explained to me why these fish were fed instead of eaten. “For us the liyu are a symbol of many things,” she explained. “They are bound closely to the god of literature; they speak of endurance, perseverance, and courage.” She measured me with her look while her body moved comfortably in the final preparation of the evening meal, and she continued. “To monks like my father they symbolize the mind's freedom fromâ” She stopped here unsure of the words, but gently touched the angry scars on both my wrists where the chains of iron had held them for so long. “They swim in all the directions of the compass, like the enlightened mind that has moved beyond any restraint and obstruction and is now truly and fully free.”
The Sea Lass lifted the lid from the cooking pot and discerningly inhaled its aroma. Glancing toward me she smiled and said, “They swim in pairs and so have also come to mean the union of great opposites and all its harmony and bliss.” I knew instantly by her smile, the nature of what she spoke, for sexual union is a constant in any world. My mind was pulled abruptly from these thoughts as Merlin's voice sounded from behind me. As always, he moved so effortlessly that I heard nothing as he entered.
She smiled at my discomfort as she added more salt, and her father spoke to me. “These carp can jump over the rapids in the Yellow River leaving all others behind. Some believe the legend that if one manages to climb the falls of this great river they will be transformed intoâ¦.” Here he stopped and searched for the word he needed. Looking to his daughter for help, they made motions of an enormous flying description, and both said the word “loong.”
I did not understand, and in truth I did not see how fish could grow huge and take wing, then I remembered a bird that could speak, and so said nothing.
I awoke to the now familiar sound of the rooster's call and the clinking of breakfast bowls being set upon the table. Merlin and the Sea Lass were deeply engaged in conversation as I entered the room. Merlin was the first to speak as the Sea Lass graciously handed me my breakfast. “We will begin with the names,” he said, “Mah.”
“Mah,” I repeated. He continued, “It means horse.” “Horse,” I mindlessly repeated, and was met by the raucous laughter of father and daughter. Serious once more, “Lin,” he said, “Its meaning is forest.” “Lin,” I chimed back, not fully aware that I had a mouthful of rice porridge and fruit, which drew even more laughter from the pair. This was quickly silenced and replaced with looks of wide-eyed pride when I swallowed quickly and the sound “Mah Lin” came forth from inside me in the perfect tonal pronunciation of their dialect.
The Sea Lass was the next to speak. “My mother chose for me a name from the distant land and ancient language of the Hebrew people. She hoped it would make me comfortable with my family differences, as from birth I was one already set apart. It was her desire that I grow into the timeless strength, serenity, and endurance of my title; for the meaning of
Selah
is stone.”
Without thought the name “Selah” came from my lips as easily as my delicious morning breakfast had gone past them.
The monk and his daughter left the room and bid me to join them. I promptly followed the two into the library where the sword still lay upon the table of thick oak. Beside it now were sheets of mulberry paper made from the bark of the trees that feed the worms. Ink stick, stone, and brush sat nearby, and beside that, a long robe of shimmering blue. Selah offered me the robe, clearly on the behalf of both herself and Mah Lin. I was deeply moved as I put it on. It was perfectly tailored, and it cleared the ground just above my feet.
Mah Lin stood by as Selah checked her handiwork against my frame, and after a few small adjustments, she humbly said, “I have made you the robe of scholar, so now let us begin your journey.” I was almost without words, but spoke sincerely from my heart, “I have never worn so wondrous a garment.” I saw her eyes look toward her father and saw the blush come to her face.
I looked again at my new attire and wondered how she had decided to make it âwarrior blue.' Whispers of understanding pushed through the voice of my own superstitions. This cloth was made by the worms; a marvelous transformation guided not by witchcraft but by wisdom.
I knew the fears of my past were yielding to faith, as Selah, composed and serious, prepared the ink, grinding a black stick on a stone dish until she achieved the depth of color she desired. Watching her movements I felt myself being calmed into readiness. She dipped the brush into the black ink, and I watched like one under a spell as she painted the sound of âMah.' I could see the mane, the body, and the four legs come together with deft strokes. Then she showed me âLin.' I saw clearly the trunk, the ground, and the reaching of its three roots. Then she painted another, and the two trees stood side by side to capture the sound of forest. “Lin,” I breathed.
She handed the brush to me, and Mah Lin searched at my discomfort. I explained, “I have never written, nor can I read or write. The only instrument of communication I have ever held is a sword.” “Good,” said Mah Lin, “That is the perfect place at which to start, in truth, sword and brush are closely connected.” He gestured toward the brush in encouragement.
I held it straight between my fingers and dipped into the ink as she had done, and I looked nervously at the fresh white mulberry sheet. I calmed myself further and steadied the breath within my belly. I had seen the horses rutting wild in the meadows of my homeland. I let the blackened tip bring their sound to life as the character âMah' galloped freely from its bristled tip and onto page.
Mah Lin and Selah studied my first written word in silence. Mah Lin moved it aside and gestured towards the fresh new sheet. Like before I became quiet from the inside, went in mind to the woodlands, and then began to write the sound of âLin.' When this character was finished, Selah came to my side quickly and began to examine my work.
While she and her father spoke about my efforts in their tongue, a language that I was only beginning to know, I reached for the sword that seemed to speak my name. I peered closely at the pentagram on its hilt and saw the half word of my ink. “Yes,” Mah Lin said, “two together means forest, one apart means wood.”
Selah moved my fingertips around the star beginning with the symbol that I recognized. “Wood, fire, earth, metal, water,” she chanted softly, “these are the five elements.” The feel of her touch lingered long after her words had ceased, and I looked where she directed me. I saw in each the shape of sound, the concept captured by symbol. I studied each carefully and deeply, the upward dance of fire, the mountain and mines of ore, the fertile sprouting earth, and the turbulent movement of water, the root and trunk of wood, and they spoke to me in a way that I cannot explain, from a place I did not know.
I was aware once again of Selah and Mah Lin who were looking at me closely as I held the weapon. My mind followed my eyes to the library shelves. I could sense the wonder, knowledge, and mystery locked within these ancient documents, and I could almost hear them speak. I touched the hem of my sea blue robe and felt its shimmering texture between my fingertips while I heard the wisdom of ages call to my soul from the rock-hewn shelves.
I was drawn back from my reverie by the sound of Mah Lin and Selah as they tried earnestly to pronounce my name.
“Vin-cent?” they chanted in unison, and they spoke it like a question. I saw the sincerity of great effort in their eyes. In my life that had past I had never known family, companionship, or peace. Now I knew absolutely that I had found all three treasures, and my answer came from the core of my being.
“Arkthar,” sprang loudly from my soul and flew up beyond the library wall and sailed on dragon ships far past the dark bird that flew on high. “Arkthar,” I said again, “Its meaning in the language of the Celts⦠is Bear.”
Mah Lin and Selah seemed pleased with my desire to learn. I had always loved the spoken word, but life had not included the skills of reading or writing. Since a mere boy it had been a stark and sterile tale of survival; my reality was one of kill or is killed, and it left no room for the arts to flourish. Save perhaps the art of sword and the art of staying alive.
In truth, however, I had hungered for it as much as the planted seed craves the sunlight. A new child learns an entire language in the time of two years. I was new again, though not a child, and would do much better. I sat often at the oaken table with Selah at my side, and my mind cracked and parched for so long could not seem to drink enough. My fingers trembled as I cast eye and heart over the open and endless manuscripts in front of me.
I was rough but not completely ignorant, and I knew the significance of what lay on the table before me. These were the treasures of the ages, the collective wisdom of humanities' greatest. Poets, sages, warriors, kings, priests, astronomers, and healers alike all collected, protected, and preserved, invited me to reach back in time and share in their wealth.
I saw the cursive and mysterious script of Arab, the harsh stark lettering of the Roman Caesars, and the scrolls of this empire's picture language, and I grasped the depths of Mah Lin's understanding. For me, however, the pull and hold of this land's picture words were more than enough to demand all my efforts. The mornings passed with the speed of flight.
Selah nudged me from my focus and brought me back to afternoon's chores, I was sorry that I had not noticed that Mah Lin had taken his leave. The work itself now had a new purpose. Even the simple tasks, I was directed to do in a way that built the strength of body or mind. Full milk buckets were carried arms straight out from shoulder, and the catching of fish was done with just two fingers. She was a hard taskmaster and a brilliant teacher.
Together we walked the land, and Selah showed me more of its secrets. Many of its features were new to me; in places it rolled gently like the green hills of my homeland, and in places it was stark and bare. Parts of it were folded in alternating layers and colors of rock, some hard some brittle. The river sang through it constantly. It was loud and savage at falls and rapids, peacefully subdued at other parts. I thought the river carved the land, but Selah assured me that it was the land that had formed the river.
Medicinal plants were always collected while we walked, and she patiently explained their nature. By this I mean the plant's effective area, whether root, stem, leaves, flower, or bark, and its method of harvesting. Some were used fresh, others dried and ground. She spoke often of the five elements and the union of opposites. She tried to explain that these concepts were related to the application of healing and the connection of man to nature, but I was not clear how or why. True understanding I knew would come only with great effort and much time, but in her company time spent was effortless and seemed always to pass too quickly.
We arrived at last to the great falls, where her father already stood in meditation. The water beat against his body as if he were a great stone eternally part of the river. Selah bade me join him, which I did. Just as before, the numbness quickly reached my bones and soon I could take no more. I looked to the face of Mah Lin, and while mine was cast in grimace, his wore a mask of peace and contentment. Indeed, the monk had a body of iron.
As Selah revived me on the grass beside the river, Mah Lin smiling came to stand beside us. He knew that I enjoyed the rough feel of the fragrant herbs rubbed into my skin, and knew as well that his daughter was pleased that my personal hygiene had inadvertently improved.