feat in this high country,
and Fenwick had scoured for hours to assemble the unwieldy collection of
brambles and kindling he now bore.
As he reached the
steep slope of the path that led down to the Saddhu’s kuti, the uneven footing
seemed to get the better of him. He found himself cast off balance, and he
pitched forward towards the jagged rocks that shielded the path on either side.
In an instant the skills born of his long training burst to life. The kindling
scattered as he threw his arms wide to counterbalance his fall. Acting against
the instinct of a normal man, he turned his forward pitch into a dive, pulled
into a tight somersault in mid-air and landed on the flat edge of a protruding
boulder with the agility of a monkey.
He barely had time to
complete the landing before he heard the sound of slow mocking applause from a
short distance away. His head shot around to face the source of the sound.
Seated on a ledge to his right was the Master’s other student, the man who now
insisted on being called “One.”
“Very nice,” the elder
student said. “Very deft for one so clumsy.”
August felt his ears
redden and his pulse quicken. He stepped down from his new-found perch quickly
and with as little fanfare as possible.
“You are full of
surprises, my young friend.” One smiled, though there was little change to his
hawk-like countenance.
“Just lucky,” Fenwick
grimaced, regarding the scattered pile of wood and feeling anything but.
“Nonsense,” the elder
student replied, standing. “You have skills, and I would be a fool not to
recognize them.”
The man called “Two”
froze in his tracks. There was a deeper import to the words of his fellow
student. He turned and met the impassive, predatory stare and said nothing.
One smiled. “Better
and better. You listen much and speak little. You are not like the typical
fools that find their way to the Master’s kuti, seeking Enlightenment in a
single day. And you have had training.”
August shrugged.
“Gymnastics. At school,” he said casually.
“It is better to speak
truth than to be thought modest,” One replied.
“Sometimes,” the young
man replied cryptically as he began to reassemble his burden.
“Still better, and
worse,” the elder student smiled. “But for the moment I do not speak of your
physical prowess.”
Fenwick’s brows knit,
puzzled. “I don’t understand,” he replied.
One stepped down from
his perch and moved smoothly across the uneven path towards his fellow
initiate. “I think that you do,” he said calmly. “I had occasion this morning
to recollect your arrival here yesterday. Something about you seemed… unusual.”
“Is that right?” the
young man’s ears were reddening again. There was something about One that set
his teeth on edge, and he couldn’t put his finger on it.
One smiled. “Imagine
my surprise when I found myself unable to recall your face.”
Fenwick tried to
control his response, to show nothing. “That happens to a lot of people,” he
said calmly.
One shook his head.
“You are the first person other than Master Rashan and myself to set foot in
this valley in seven months. And yet I found my memory as clouded as if I had
met a hundred men yesterday. And I say again, you have had some training.”
The pair of students
locked eyes for a moment. At last the man called “Two” shrugged a little. “I
spent some time with an American stage hypnotist. His act was good. A little
too good to be nothing more than trickery.”
One raised an eyebrow
in spite of himself. “This charlatan knew the ancient secrets of the mind?”
Fenwick shrugged
again. “He knew a little. Enough to be useful, if you’d rather not be
remembered, or to pluck a simple thought from the mind of another. An image, a
name.”
“Enough to make you
certain there was more to learn. More to know,” One said, his stare becoming
still more intense, as if he were struggling to read the young man, and meeting
only
and Fenwick had scoured for hours to assemble the unwieldy collection of
brambles and kindling he now bore.
As he reached the
steep slope of the path that led down to the Saddhu’s kuti, the uneven footing
seemed to get the better of him. He found himself cast off balance, and he
pitched forward towards the jagged rocks that shielded the path on either side.
In an instant the skills born of his long training burst to life. The kindling
scattered as he threw his arms wide to counterbalance his fall. Acting against
the instinct of a normal man, he turned his forward pitch into a dive, pulled
into a tight somersault in mid-air and landed on the flat edge of a protruding
boulder with the agility of a monkey.
He barely had time to
complete the landing before he heard the sound of slow mocking applause from a
short distance away. His head shot around to face the source of the sound.
Seated on a ledge to his right was the Master’s other student, the man who now
insisted on being called “One.”
“Very nice,” the elder
student said. “Very deft for one so clumsy.”
August felt his ears
redden and his pulse quicken. He stepped down from his new-found perch quickly
and with as little fanfare as possible.
“You are full of
surprises, my young friend.” One smiled, though there was little change to his
hawk-like countenance.
“Just lucky,” Fenwick
grimaced, regarding the scattered pile of wood and feeling anything but.
“Nonsense,” the elder
student replied, standing. “You have skills, and I would be a fool not to
recognize them.”
The man called “Two”
froze in his tracks. There was a deeper import to the words of his fellow
student. He turned and met the impassive, predatory stare and said nothing.
One smiled. “Better
and better. You listen much and speak little. You are not like the typical
fools that find their way to the Master’s kuti, seeking Enlightenment in a
single day. And you have had training.”
August shrugged.
“Gymnastics. At school,” he said casually.
“It is better to speak
truth than to be thought modest,” One replied.
“Sometimes,” the young
man replied cryptically as he began to reassemble his burden.
“Still better, and
worse,” the elder student smiled. “But for the moment I do not speak of your
physical prowess.”
Fenwick’s brows knit,
puzzled. “I don’t understand,” he replied.
One stepped down from
his perch and moved smoothly across the uneven path towards his fellow
initiate. “I think that you do,” he said calmly. “I had occasion this morning
to recollect your arrival here yesterday. Something about you seemed… unusual.”
“Is that right?” the
young man’s ears were reddening again. There was something about One that set
his teeth on edge, and he couldn’t put his finger on it.
One smiled. “Imagine
my surprise when I found myself unable to recall your face.”
Fenwick tried to
control his response, to show nothing. “That happens to a lot of people,” he
said calmly.
One shook his head.
“You are the first person other than Master Rashan and myself to set foot in
this valley in seven months. And yet I found my memory as clouded as if I had
met a hundred men yesterday. And I say again, you have had some training.”
The pair of students
locked eyes for a moment. At last the man called “Two” shrugged a little. “I
spent some time with an American stage hypnotist. His act was good. A little
too good to be nothing more than trickery.”
One raised an eyebrow
in spite of himself. “This charlatan knew the ancient secrets of the mind?”
Fenwick shrugged
again. “He knew a little. Enough to be useful, if you’d rather not be
remembered, or to pluck a simple thought from the mind of another. An image, a
name.”
“Enough to make you
certain there was more to learn. More to know,” One said, his stare becoming
still more intense, as if he were struggling to read the young man, and meeting
only
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