A Different Stance

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The day was cloudless and hot at the Daidoji Iron Warrior dojo. Kakita Rensei walked swiftly along the hot wooden bridge leading from the courtyard to the inner gardens. It was mid-summer and Lord Sun was baking the planks to an almost unbearable temperature. Students, along with their teachers, had moved quickly over that bridge for centuries, and Rensei was not shamed to do this as well. It was practically tradition for the members of the dojo and he remembered doing so many times when he trained there in his first life.

The Kenshinzen master found a shady corner of the gardens near a koi pond and sat down to meditate. It had been a trying year and it was good to be back at his old school. Settling into the traditional position, Rensei looked back at the bridge, at a single crack in the wood, and made that crack his entire world, emptying his mind of all thoughts.

How long he sat there, deep at peace in the tranquil gardens, he did not know. However, when he finally came out of his meditation and began to see the world around him, he noticed a man walking out to the bridge. Like many in the dojo, the man was barefoot and wore a simple, practical kimono. Yet, this kimono was the dark purple of the Unicorn, not the sky blue of the Crane. Rensei noted that the mons upon the man’s shoulders were that of the Moto and the Iron Crane, and had the look of a returned spirit on him. Was the man a former hostage, or had he earned enough prestige to be invited to the Crane school? Rensei also noted that the man was a man of contradictions. He had the traditional top knot of the samurai, but a long fu manchu mustache. He had the passive face of a Crane, but the intense eyes of a Unicorn. And, as the man passed a small shrine to Ebisu and offered a quick prayer, Rensei noted that the prayer was both exceptionally pious and spoken with an accent.

The man, strangely, walked slowly upon the bridge, his face barely betraying the pain he must be experiencing under his feet. And, just as strangely, the man stopped at the top of the bridge and assumed his dueling stance, staring deep into the distance, concentrating. Rensei noted almost immediately that the stance was incomplete, and almost impatient.

The pain must have been unbearable, yet the Unicorn maintained his stance even as the sweat began to drip from his brow and his hands began to shake under the pain. This continued for a while until his whole body began to shake. Just before the Moto began to lose face under the strain, he made a leap from the bridge and landed in the cool grass beyond. The Moto panted under the strain, but his face maintained the grim determination Rensei had seen throughout.

Rensei decided he had to say something. As he stood, he spoke. “Moto-san, may I inquire what you are doing? Your…training methods…are rather different than any I remember.”

The Moto whipped his head around at the noise and seemed to notice Rensei for the first time. He gave a deep bow to the master. “Kakita-sama, please forgive me if I disturbed your meditations. I did not see you in the shadows.” His accent was heavily accented, yet it was a different accent than the Moto that had recently returned from the Burning Sands with their Kami, Shinjo.

Rensei gave a slight bow in return and approached the Moto. “There is nothing to forgive. My meditations were complete. Still, what were you trying to accomplish up there?”

The Moto’s face barely held back a saddened look. “Kakita-sama, I am Moto Achmed, of the Unicorn. I was born in the year 806, when my clan still travelled the lands beyond the Empire. My first ten years were spent outside the Empire, one of them travelling through the Shadowlands. Perhaps it was my time spent outside the tranquility of the Emperor’s domains, but I have never been able to maintain the concentration and inner peace to become a truly effective duelist. I was attempting to force that concentration through pain, Kakita-sama.”

Rensei motioned for Achmed to follow him into the shade. “This is good, Moto Akamedo-san. I believe that all samurai can master a technique if they dedicate their mind to the task.”

He sat, and closed his eyes, and Achmed joined him on the grass. After a moment, Rensei spoke. “You believe that, having been born in a different land, you do not have the same innate ability as a man born in Rokugan. You would say that:

“The swallow grows gills
And is dropped into the sea –
Will it learn to swim?

“I see this in a different light. We are both birds, whether you were born in the nest or on the ground.

“In tall grass, a bird
Awakens on crisp, dry leaves –
The swallow can fly.

“Do you understand what I am trying to say, Moto-san?”

Achmed pondered for a moment. “You are trying to say that Fortune favors the Mortal Man; that, like a bird is born with the knowledge to fly, we are born with the knowledge of the Way of the Sword. As you say, though I was born on the ground, I am still a bird.”

Rensei nodded. “Indeed.” And he rose. “You will join me for tea tomorrow morning at sunrise. Then, we will train together. I will teach you a different stance. Perhaps the knowledge it brings will help you in your journey. The honorable samurai can learn to move as smoothly as a sparrow to avoid an incoming strike. If you can be at peace while moving gracefully, perhaps one day you can be at peace while not moving at all.”

Moto Achmed shifted in his seat to prostrate himself in front of the Kenshinzen master. “Hai! Thank you, Kakita-sama.” And with that, Rensei walked to the bridge and moved across it. Slowly.

Starring

Moto Achmed