Feudal Pacific

10

The day was fading, the sun drooping wearily toward the horizon, when Patrick stepped into Takeko's garden. It was a tranquil place, a world apart from the clamor and chaos of Ewing. Juniper trees, their branches twisted by time, stood sentinel, delicately pruned by their caretaker. A small pond reflected the golden light, and small fish darted around within. A stone path, each rock worn smooth by countless footsteps, led to a wooden platform nestled among woven screens.

"What did you teach Yasuo?" asked Patrick, his voice edged with trepidation. "Was it bad?"

Takeko shook her head. "A sword is a tool, neither good nor evil alone. It can protect, or it can harm. That choice lies with the wielder. I will teach you as I taught Yasuo."

On the platform, mats were laid out in silent invitation. Incense smoldered nearby, its fragrant smoke curling lazily in the darkening sky.

Takeko did not begin with the ways of the body, but of the mind. "Before you can master your power," she said, "you must first understand the self that holds it."

She bid him sit, legs crossed, mirroring her own pose. "Close your eyes," she whispered. "Breathe. Feel the air, the life, moving within you."

Patrick tried, but his mind was a wild horse, bucking at the reins. Thoughts of days past, of trials to come, galloped through his head.

Takeko sensed his struggle. "Your mind will wander," she said. "It is the nature of things. Simply acknowledge each thought, then let it pass."

Time slipped by, marked only by the steady rhythm of their breaths. Then Takeko spoke again. "Picture a candle in your mind. See its flame, feel its warmth. Let all else fall away."

Gradually, lulled by her words and the peace of the place, Patrick felt a stillness settle over him.

When they were finished meditating, Takeko guided his body, showing him ancient ways of balance and control. Each movement was a whisper, a promise of power waiting to be unlocked.

"This is called Taiji," said Takeko. "It is an ancient art of directing your life-force throughout your body. This force is called ki. If you are to master jikanjutsu—that is, your time-hold, or ki-hold, you must first learn to control your ki."

Patrick mimicked her, his limbs moving with the awkward uncertainty of the untrained. But Takeko was patient, her corrections gentle, her encouragement a steady light.

As the last rays of the sun painted the prairie sky in hues of fire, Takeko turned her teachings to matters of the spirit.

"Every action, every thought, is a pebble dropped into the pond of the world," she said. "The ripples spread, touching lives in ways we may never know. This is the lesson you must hold in your heart."

Her eyes held his. "Your gift is a great power, and a great responsibility. You alone can choose the path you walk with it."

Patrick felt the weight of her words, the magnitude of the task before him. But as he sat in that garden, the first stars kindling to life above, he felt also a flicker of something else. Purpose, perhaps. Or hope.

When he tried to sit as she sat, his body rebelled, muscles protesting this unfamiliar demand. Takeko watched his discomfort, a small smile playing at her lips. "Embrace the unease," she advised. "Growth is rarely comfortable."

And when he sought to quiet his mind, to find in the silence the peace she promised, his thoughts buzzed and swarmed like angry bees. The harder he tried to still them, the louder they seemed to grow.

He could hear Takeko's breaths, deep and even, and the sound mocked his own unsteady one. Sweat beaded his brow, though the evening air was cool.

"Your mind resists the stillness," Takeko said softly, sensing his turmoil. "Do not try to cage your thoughts. Let them come, and let them go."

Patrick clung to her words like a drowning man to a raft. But each time he felt himself nearing that place of calm, a fresh wave of thought would crash over him, dragging him back into the churning sea of his own mind.

An eternity seemed to pass before Takeko rang a small bell, a single chime, a clear not that cut through the clamor of Patrick's head. He opened his eyes, blinking in the twilight. The span of time that had felt to immense had been mere minutes.

"How was it?" she asked.

"It wasn't easy," he confessed.

Her smile held understanding. "The mind, like any muscle, must be trained. With practice, you will find the quiet center within yourself."

Her words were a comfort. He would try again. He would find that stillness, that strength. No matter how long it took.

That evening, as they sipped tea, steam curling from the earthen cups, Takeko spoke of ki, the life force that flowed through all things.

"Your power springs from this well," she explained. "But no well is bottomless. You must learn to draw from it wisely."

Patrick's brow furrowed. "How will I know my limits?"

"Through discipline and understanding. The breath is key. Like this. "She demonstrated, her inhalation deep, her exhalation slow. "With each breath, feel your ki. Sense its ebb and flow."

He mimicked her, the air cool in his nostrils. Gradually, with each cycle of breath, he began to feel something. A warmth in his chest, a tingling in his limbs. Was this ki?

Questions crowded his tongue. How long could he hold time still? What toll would it take? Were there dangers he could not yet see?

Takeko answered each in turn, her words painting a picture of the path ahead. It would not be an easy road. The power was a heavy burden. He would need to train not just his body and mind, but his heart as well.

"Emotions," she told him, "are the tides that can swamp the boat of your control. Fear, anger, despair—these are the storms you will have to weather. Only through mastery of self can you hope to master your power."

Patrick looked into himself and saw turbulence. The storm that lived in his heart, a whirlwind of doubt and fear. But as he breathed, as he let himself feel it fully, he felt the winds begin to gentle ever so slightly. There was light behind the clouds, and he glimpsed something beyond. A calm. Clarity.

It was fleeting, but it was real. A promise of what could be, if he had the courage to pursue it.