Insignia by Kelly Matsuura Read Free Book Online

need a tattoo. My absent
hand speaks for me.
     
     
    At forty-three, I watch from the gate-tower
of the monastery. I have been Brother Tiger’s Paw for thirteen
years. Much has changed, though the valley has had peace for long
years. Many children have been born, and I have advanced far in my
studies; I see now the cycle of things from nut to tree to rotten
wood and through to new growth. It is a good life. There are few
novices in the monastery; it has been long since any have chosen
our way over the prosperity of the fields. Long since any were
orphaned. My knuckles are pink and close to cracking in the cold
air, but I do not let this distract me; for there is something in
the wind, a scent I have not smelled since I was seventeen. Smoke
wisps up from the west and I am the first to guess what it means. I
sound the deep horn of warning, and the monks assemble quietly in
the courtyard. Eagle's Wing leads a delegation from the farmers to
the monastery to ask what is happening, because, other than at
Summer or Winter Solstice, the horn has not been sounded in many
years. Wing is nearly fifty; his work has made him dark of skin and
strong, and his eyes reveal his opinion of me. He thinks I have
grown soft, leading an idle life of contemplation. Perhaps he knows
so little of the Monastery and our Order, though he lives in the
same valley as we do.
    I explain that I see invaders coming, to
which the monks nod, and Eagle's Wing scoffs. He has seen nothing,
and he lives closer to the Way; I must be mistaken, he says. The
marauders have never attacked in winter. The abbot shakes his head
and warns them to prepare, but the others do not listen. They are
young men, born after the last invasion, proud of their strength
and skeptical of ours. Eagle's Wing adds that if any horsemen enter
the valley, they will be welcome; for he will lead a charge against
them, and pull them from their mounts. No longer will the farmers
of the valley be targets, but warriors themselves. I understand the
look in his eyes, for I remember his family was chased here long
ago.
    Three days later a tiger is seen in the
forest. It chases someone nearly to the gates of the monastery,
even as smoke begins to plume black and thick from the western
pass. I run down from the gate tower and out to the animal and its
quarry. It meets my gaze and stops; the woman runs past me. I see
it is the same creature I lost my hand to; I see also he had no
intention of killing the woman. The monks on guard duty approach
with long staves, made of holy wood, to drive the animal back, but
there is no need. I bow to him and he departs, climbing the slopes
to the north whence he came. Many count this strange, but there is
no time to wonder, as the rumble of hooves is heard beyond the
valley. The deep horn is sounded, but only the women and children
flee to the safety of our walls. Eagle's Wing spurs the farmers to
action, that the valley may have mounted warriors of its own. It is
a daring plan, but the monks will not take part. For while the
trees must give way before the forest fire, for there to be new
life, it is not for them to carry the fire to other forests. We
will keep the women and children safe behind our walls.
    I return to my post. I witness the
approaching battle as horses spill down the slopes in the west,
black and brown, their riders bearing fire. It is as terrible as it
was when I was a child and a young man.
    The woman who fled from the tiger is brought
to my post. She wishes to thank me, I believe, but I am going to
tell her that she was in no danger; I know this tiger and he would
not hurt her. I am about to tell her this, I will tell her in a few
moments. The sound of hooves thunders through the valley. The
horsemen have overrun the men of the valley. Those who have taken
horses from the marauders cannot control them, and are taken from
the battle by their new steeds into the forest. I hear this through
the trees. The slaughter is becoming unbearable. The monks