The Wizard

Tiger Claw

The haunting visit from the witch's ghost put the entire monastery into a state. Monks in their black and white robes scurried through the halls checking every inch of the place for signs of paranormal activity. 

"We never thought we'd be able to surprise them," confirmed Mr. Grimble. 

Øregård and Grimble were the only two unfazed by the event. They ate their fill and drifted off to sleep early. Pathos and Mevner decided to join Bill in the open courtyard for a little moonlit martial practice. 

Bill had just finished sparring with the housemaster of grappling and monkey style fighting. Bill was losing for a while but in the end, his thick arms pounded the monk into submission like the gorilla he was. 

When Mevner walked in, the oldest of three monks observing from the sidelines stood and stepped out into the courtyard. 

"Have you kept up with your Tiger?" 

"It's been years, but I remember your teachings." 

The old monk, who taught Mevner almost two decades ago, pulled back the sleeves of his warm winter robe and curled his fingers into two clawed hand gestures. Mevner did the same. When he began to focus he felt the new strength of his scarred, yet healed, hands. 

Mevner curved his right wrist bringing in his pinky and ring finger and a phantom force rushed out of his hand, growing in size to a foot wide clawed animal paw. It sailed across the yard, opening, and intending to strike down the old monk. The monk moved his own hands in an X formation and the flying phantom tiger claw was deflected by two massive phantom claws of his own. For a moment two red claw marks formed a triple X in front of the monk as if he had scratched the air and caused it to bleed. The apparitions faded away in dissipating wisps of smoke.  

Mevner flicked his left wrist to the side and the old monk's robe was ripped off his body and flew to a hook on the wall. A look of surprise followed by pride lit across the smooth face of the abbot. 

"Your subtlety has lost none of its finesse."

Bill grabbed a staff from the wall and charged Mevner in an attempt to brain him. Mevner put his curled fingers together then drew them apart quickly. A rush of energy leapt away from his hands and the wooden pole exploded into splinters. Bill stood there stupified holding the end of the shattered quarterstaff. 

The old monk flattened his hand and gestured Bill out of the way. An invisible force moved him out of the courtyard and placed him sitting on a bench to the side. He threw the end of the staff to the ground in disgust. 

"Witchcraft," Bill huffed. 

Mevner and the old monk proceeded to exchange blow after blow. Giant spectral animal paws clawed at each other and knocked things around in the dojo. After virtually wrestling into a stalemate, the abbot bowed to Mevner and he returned the gesture. 

"Do you think you could teach me that?" Pathos asked. 

Mevner reached forward, one of her short swords drew itself from its sheath and flew across the yard into his hand. 

"It has noncombative uses as well." His smile was returned by Pathos. 

Bill repeatedly tried to attack Mevner, who held him off with ghostly paws, while Pathos practiced picking his pockets for a distance with her own invisible hand. The abbot barked instructions and the lessons went on into the night. 

The ringing of the six a.m. gong echoed across the valley chiming in the dawn and was completely ignored by the guests still fast asleep. The monastery came to life in the early morning sunlight. Monks sweeping, praying, fetching water, opening windows, preparing food, and gathering together to chant for two hours before they had breakfast. 

Yak butter and mushroom tea were no one's favorite, but the smell of fresh bread and warm porridge pulled the sleeping guests from their chilly bedrooms. Morning, after the frost of night subsided, was the safest time to begin travel through the high mountains. The monks fed their guests well and set them on the narrow road that led to the Stone Mountain castle.

Where they were, without a doubt, expected.