> "To soothe a heart aflame,

> compassion must pierce uncrowded.

> For a heart must love unashamed,

> to see with eyes unclouded."

> Poem by Venerable Flower Garland Fifth Patriarch Jisinsati

"Pray, cease. I'm no god, I'm no sage, I'm no Buddha. You've no need." She spat out a glob of red, shooting it straight into a medium-sized hole to the side of the table, where it fell into a section walled-off section of the undersection. "Cease, please! Have some respect for yourself."

Raxri pushed through Akazha's hand and kowtowed.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose and exhaled. "Very well. Fine! If it will stop you from kowtowing. Get up! I will teach you, but in so doing, you will be formally in my debt. You will have to honor your debts to me, unless you wish to know what happens should you trigger a witch's ire."

Raxri swallowed yet another mouthful of claypot chicken rice and was immediately seized with the fear that they would finish the chicken rice too soon. Yet, they nodded. They knew they were in no place to negotiate. They hardly even knew where they were. "I agree to your terms, witch."

"Good. Let us see how well it goes. It will be interesting to see your path," she said, chewing. "A curiosity like you... it might even stake me upon the path to wizardhood. Matters of consciousness, Mindstream, souls and the like are all the rage in the wizardly community."

Raxri raised an eyebrow. "Wizardhood? What mean you? Are you not a wizard presently?"

Akazha spat out another globule—this one was the entire quid itself. Then, she drank some tea, gargled it in her mouth, and then spat it out again. Then she poured herself another cup and drank that normally. Raxri reached for their own tea and drank it as well. A warmth—the kind welcome on a cold night such as this—enveloped them. They could taste hints of clove and cinnamon.

"You will learn when we awake in the morning tomorrow. For now, enjoy your food."

Raxri shrugged. "I suppose that would constitute a lesson." And Raxri wasn't sure if they could retain such knowledge then.

Raxri ate until the clay pot was completely empty, almost licked clean of rice granules and even the soy sauce. They then finished their tea as well, a perfect downer for everything else. Akazha watched as Raxri took a piece of quid (she gestured for them to do so) and gingerly copied what Akazha had done, placing it onto the side of their mouth and then beginning to chew.

Raxri could feel a bit of a tang immediately, a bit of spiciness. Then that nutty flavor, then those seeds. Then the spiciness rose, covering their entire mouth, almost numbing it in the process.

"Be careful not to swallow," said Akazha. "When you feel like you are on the brink, spit it out onto that hole yon thither."

Raxri nodded. When they smiled, their teeth were already stained red. They spat out a piece and then continued chewing. After the first few seconds, it became almost second nature to Raxri. They'd done this multiple times before, in times past.

Before long, Akazha moved to pick up the claypot. Raxri rushed to grab it quicker, saying: "Effort not, master. I shall clean it."

Akazha smiled and said, "Nay, student, there is no need to do it so late in the night. Bring these to the annex first, and we'll wash them by the stream first thing tomorrow."

Raxri nodded and did as she asked. They remembered the annex Akazha had walked out of. Carrying the whole tray, Raxri walked into a kitchen more like a half room. Half the room was on the roofed elevated ledge, where all the spices were kept alongside multiple earthenware and porcelain jars, no doubt filled with food and other cooking accessories. Then, a ladder led to an open kitchen, still roofed, where a blackened stove sat. Various pots hung from a wooden beam attached to the two poles that kept the thatched roof up.

Raxri placed the tray onto a table and returned to the living room. There, Akazha had undressed herself of her garbs, robes, and veil. She only had a simple breast wrap--a kemben--around her chest underneath her armpits, and then a cloth loincloth drenched in azure dyes, wrapping around her hip and covering all the way down to her thighs. In truth, it was less of a loincloth and more of a... kilt, in a way. Though it wrapped around a person's privates, the cloth was long enough to cover the thighs.

She looked at Raxri and raised an eyebrow. "Don't just stand there ogling. It's rude."

"The bahag you wear... is this not the common clothing of men?"

Akazha shrugged. "It is, but 'tis be my home. I've no need for appearances, and it is far more comfortable besides. My room is upstairs. You on the other hand..." Akazha walked towards the annex on the other side of the room and pushed the door open. Within was a spacious room with a soft down bed and pillows on the edge, an incense burner upon a low four-legged table, and a black mosquito net veiled over them. "Make yourself at home."

"Thank you kindly. I will do all that I can to repay you."

"We will see about that." Akazha walked over to the ladder that led to the second floor. "Sleep soundly. We begin training at dawn tomorrow."

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Raxri made themself at home in the guestroom. Cold wind drafted from the open windows and the bamboo slat floor. Raxri Uttara clad themself in the provided cotton blanket, which had the abstract representation of a lizard upon it.

Raxri removed their wrap shirt now. They used their blanket to cover the entirety of their body, which was not remarkably lithe; they had the severeness of a warrior. From their silhouette they would be mistaken as a broad-shouldered woman with unfortunately almost non-existent breasts, but by the way they moved they carried themselves with the warlord mien of a man.

Narrow by the waist but broad-shouldered. Their naked body betrayed a long past of myriad events: slashes and gashes pocked their light brown skin, some of them not as recent as the bright pink gashes they had taken. Some of them cut into the soft flesh of their breast, their sternum, their abdomen, their buttocks. A light bruise as well, not yet fully healed, on their groin area. Instead of being incensed, Raxri couldn't help but be confused.

The night, as always, was quiet. Raxri was made to sit in their thoughts alone, except for the occasional hoot of an eagle owl and the slight call of the gecko. Within this mire, they couldn't help but think and be aware that they most likely had a long history before this. They didn't seem like they were of young stock: Raxri conjectured that they'd lived around twenty-five harvests by now. Looking up at the roof of the mosquito net, they segmented their thoughts: deep gash wounds now turned into pink scars--no doubt because of the Healing Buddha's waters. But they wondered then: what were the Buddhas? What were those Bodhisattva statues depicting? What were those ogre statues? Gods thrived here, it seemed, but sometimes their temples might be forgotten or forsaken. Dilapidated. What did that mean?

What was the Whorl? What were all these things that Raxri could swear they had knowledge of? Deep understanding and awareness. Perhaps something even close to Enlightenment in these subjects, but now nothing. Did they just lose all progress, then?

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Clinging to these thoughts, Raxri knew, would only deepen the confusion, like clinging to the blade of a knife already lodged into your heart.

They focused on succumbing to slumber. It didn't take too long; they were mighty tired, even with the rejuvenation of the Buddha Waters. And in that state, no dreams came to them. Not even the words of Silang sa Bayno.

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Dawn came. The incense sticks on the burner had fallen into stumps and were out.

Raxri arose to that all-too-familiar sound of the cock's crow. Their eyes opened. Though they had no clue about the length of their slumber, they knew from the buzzing energy deep within their muscles that they were ready to move. Raxri leaped out of the mosquito net and stretched their body to the full length it could, priming it like a blacksmith heating a blade.

Then, they put on the monk's garments they'd picked up—that wrap shirt with cap sleeves and the sarong—and walked out.

In the living room, as the rays of sunlight streamed in from the malachite sky above, Raxri found no mentor or teacher. All they found was silence and emptiness. The cock's crow reverberated again, this time accompanied by the flapping and the tweets of little Maya-maya. Raxri figured that perhaps Akazha had gone on ahead. Perhaps this was some sort of test against them, and they should pick up the slack. To show that they're eager to move, learn, recover their memories, and help them.

Raxri walked over to the kitchen annex and saw that the unwashed clay pot was still there. Raxri also noticed at least five other claypots, most of which had leftover rice within. Must be Akazha's other dishes. I'll clean those too.

Raxri fit all five claypots onto their arms and walked down the annex ladders, balancing everything precariously. From their vantage on top of the annex's ledge, they could see the close glistening waters of the stream that Akazha must have been talking about.

They walked past the open kitchen and into a lightly trodden path, cutting through lush jungle underbrush. The path eventually opened into the stream, which flowed to their right. The stream flowed quickly and cleanly.

It was so early that the indigo of the night was only just being bleached into the orange of dawnbreak. Raxri walked down the path and to the stream, when the sound of gurgling erupted from beside them.

Sometimes, one should understand that the flesh always remembers. Sometimes, though it is the Mind that overpowers reality, the flesh is still a major dependent origination. This means even the Mind, as all-powerful as it is, as long as it is bound to the flesh cage that is one's own body, it will be restricted by the Flesh.

But if the Flesh remembers, then the Mind will too.

Raxri's senses were not preternatural. They were honed by years of meditation.

Raxri stopped walking. The gurgling sound got louder. It turned to echoes of growling. It sounded like people drowning.

That doesn't sound good.

Raxri set down the claypots. The moment they had put it down, a shadow erupted from the bushes and the marshes. Their awareness expanding, they dove into a desperate defense. They dove to the side, hit the ground on a roll, and then looked up.

There were two... things. Humanoid, yet too gangly and thin, with faces heavily gilled and eyes bright red like fishes, webbed feet, and iridescent turquoise scales. They looked like fish-men, but with hands sharp with razor claws. The noise was coming from their not-throats, stomach-churning drowning noises.

Water ghosts? Raxri saw a slightly rusted blade beside them. Serendipitous. Hopefully, this would be enough. Better to be armed than to fight back without a weapon. This time, they had to rely on their body. There's a nugget of martial knowledge in there, in their brain. They just know it.

They rose to their feet and readied the blade, cocking it horizontally across their left bicep, holding it with their right. I don't know how to move like this... but it feels right.

DO YOU WISH TO SURVIVE?

Raxri's forehead knotted. Half fear, half confusion. What is this...?

I AM THE YOU THAT YOU KEEP HIDDEN. DEEP WITHIN. THE YOU THAT PROTECTS YOU AGAINST DAMNATION. RAXRI UTTARA. I AM YOUR KILLING INTENT. LET ME GUIDE YOU. LET ME PROTECT YOU. TAP INTO ME. ALL SENTIENT BEINGS HAVE IT. WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO BE A TIGER?

Raxri knew they had to, if they wanted to survive. And so they did. They closed their eyes and allowed killing intent to course through them. The two water ghosts flinched, very subtly.

What am I?

Then, the water ghosts lunged. Raxri found that they could handle their burning anxiety a bit better now that they had gotten a good night's sleep and some food in their stomach. The water ghosts moved quickly, they did not think. They fell into habit, into martial tendency.

As the water ghosts' claws descended, Raxri avoided it by slashing diagonally while taking a huge step to their left. Their blade cut through both of them in one movement. Now effectively behind the water ghosts, they struck twice--a movement they also did not know how to do intentionally, but their physical instrument burgeoned and moved for them. Was this... instinct?

No. Raxri realized exactly what it was. This was their innate violence. This is my killing intent.

The two swordstrikes immediately turned into a double horizontal strike that immediately dug deep into the water ghost. The other water ghost shrieked at that, and then immediately dove into the marshes behind the trees, effectively retreating.

After a moment of silence, when Raxri could ascertain that it was more or less safe, they put their blade down. Was that it? What was that? Raxri looked at their own hands. Killing Intent... did everyone have this? Can everyone do that?

Without another word, they went over to the claypots, gathered them into their arms, and made their way to the stream. Somehow they could sense that no other water ghosts would be appearing now, as the great Sun beamed her destructive rays into the earth.

Slightpond Stream

Raxri placed the pots onto a nearby rock, knelt, and drank the glistening water. Refreshment poured down their throats, cleaning them. There was no teacher here, and Raxri eventually concluded that perhaps the teacher had just slept in.

As the sun rose and the chill morning air slowly gave way to a slight dawning heat, Raxri shrugged, removed their clothes, and washed themselves clean in the rushing waters behind a large boulder the stream snaked around. Tall trees created a verdant canopy over them, shielding them from the worst of the sun's rays. Though they had no oils to coat their hair nor any soaps to clean their skin, Raxri found themself at peace, once again. Always, it is always the rushing waters.

Afterward, as Raxri dried themself, they set about washing the clay pots. It didn't take long until each pot was cleansed of detritus. Raxri allowed the large chunks of leftover rice, some still stained with soy sauce, to flow away with the river, chanting a mantra as they did. Or what is a song? Raxri didn't't know anymore. These were at the forefront of their mind, and they sang it, but they didn't exactly know what it meant. It arose automatically, because of some reason or other wholly outside of Raxri's comprehension as of now.

As Raxri washed the dishes, they found that each dish was intricately engraved with flower spiral designs. It was a beautiful design, no doubt, though Raxri didn't precisely understand the true meaning of each spiral. They understood now that the world they've returned to is filled with the uncontrollable urge to make everything they see beautiful, filling it with the same beauty as nature-filled empty spaces—the truth of emptiness.

Then, behind them, a yawn.

"Oh, Raxri, my dear student. You woke up much too early."

Raxri turned around just as they finished washing the last of the claypots. "Good morning, teacher. I had thought you came here first as a test of loyalty."

"From whence did you get that thought? For someone who lost all memory, mischief dances yet in your head." Akazha saw the cleaned claypots and said: "Quaint, cleaned you even my own dishes. Those I'd laid aside for I promised they'd be washed when the chance presented itself."

"A waste of a trip it would've been if I hadn't," replied Raxri, rising to their full height and bending backward to stretch their back.

Akazha smiled and shrugged. She moved over to the other side of the boulder, saying: "Well, you've certainly won me over with your diligence. Our first lesson shall begin, then." She spoke over the rushing stream's din and on the boulder's other side. Raxri figured she would be bathing and didn't want to go over there to ruin her privacy.

What had just transpired arose in Raxri's mind. "Akazha... will you answer one of my questions?"

"Yes. Of course. That will be the better way of it." She arose from the other side of the boulder with only a single textile covering her entire body.

Raxri said: "A pair of water ghosts struck at me up the path."

"Oh, so that's why there was ghost residue upon the path," she said, tapping her chin. "And you... fought them off?"

Raxri nodded. "I... was spoken to by my own Killing Intent..."

"Interesting," said Akazha, walking into the water to wash her hands and feet and face. "Every sentient being faced with mortal danger will have their Killing Intent reach out to them at one point or another. Some people--often the bourgeois--will never experience this in their life, for they are perpetually safe. For others, though... they will experience it at some time during their childhood. So it is as if you're reborn."

A silence, as Raxri contemplated on her words. They asked: "Was I rebirthed?"