Touhou Discussion Thread - Page 244

The old man was dying.

We all knew there was naught to be done for him. The old man, once so vigorous and hale, was slowly succumbing to the incurable illness. My heart ached to see him in such a state; this man had, just months ago, been cheerfully spreading the words and law of our God to the temple visitors, or assisting the village people in their daily tasks. What a vibrant personality he had exhibited! Even those who traveled a path ill-suited for the Faith could not help but admire the man. Hardly a week went by without one of the villagers venturing to our temple to express their gratitude for his selflessness and charity. From the very moment the old man inherited his dharma name, he had worked solely toward the betterment of his fellows.

No longer. Lying before me was a husk, the near-skeletal remains of what was once a proud and noble monk. The glint in his eyes had dimmed, and every breath was a struggle. A warrior to the last, our old friend…

He had led a long, fruitful life, full of joy and wonder. I knew that his time was exhausted, but it pained me no less to understand that simple truth. Surely there was a less agonizing end to the First Life. Surely, he had earned more than this! Surely, he could...

Sitting at the old man’s bedside, these thoughts consumed me all at once, and my discipline faltered. My vision grew blurry with tears. Tears of rage, grief, sadness. It wasn’t fair! He deserved better! A more noble soul could not be found, and yet he lies here, wasting away from the illness, wracked by pain in every waking moment! Could nothing be done?!

“Dry your tears, my child.”

It was the old man, having just awakened from another of his increasingly frequent slumbers. The remark struck me like a blow, though he meant no unkindness in his words. Rather, the impact of his words shamed me. I was weeping for a man that would return once more after departing his mortal shell. There was no need to mourn one who, having achieved nirvana, would again grace the world with his presence.

I gently grasped his hand, childishly wishing that such a futile gesture would keep him in this world. “How… are you feeling, Master?”

The old man, my cherished mentor, mustered a weak smile. “Do not worry for me. All is as it should be. Though my time is short, you must not mourn for me.”

“I hear the truth in your words, but… it’s so difficult to…”

My master uttered a short laugh, though his weakened body twisted the sound into something monstrous. “Your devotion is flattering, my child, but do not let emotion cloud your senses. This is all part of the cycle…” His words trailed off, eyes losing focus even as they remained locked on my own.

All became a whirlwind in my mind. Panic gripped me as the teachings, the Faith, the Eightfold Path, escaped me in that moment of terror. No, not yet! There is more I must say! I whispered his name, gently shook his hand. No response was availed… yet something was amiss. His breathing, labored as it was, continued. His grip on my own hands remained. The old man was not dead… yet something had afflicted him.

Suddenly, his focus returned. A spark of life emerged as the familiar glint appeared in my master’s eyes. And he spoke, not with the monumental effort of a man soon to die, but with the same vitality that defined his life:

“Scroll. Fetch me a scroll.”

“What? I… I don’t…”

“Fetch the scroll. Quickly!” Such force of voice was unheard of in the old man. He was always soft-spoken; firm at times, yes, but never one to raise his voice unnecessarily. Driven partly by the request of a dying man, and partly by confusion from such a strange reaction, I released my grasp on the master’s hand and withdrew a scroll and quill from the bedside chest with all haste.

“Listen closely, my child. Do not question the things I will ask you to pen, for I am not long for this world. Do as you are told.”

I readied the quill, even as a kind of fear crept into the back of my mind. This man before me was not the master I knew. What was happening?

“The young girl who frequents the shrine. The transcendent, the Itinerant One. She will show us the way.”

“Master, I don’t—“

“Write it down!”

The old man had… shouted at me. Behavior in defiance of every facet of his personality. I was shocked, but retained the presence of mind to put to paper this mysterious phrase. Scarcely did I finish before he spoke again, more hoarsely than before.

“Foe becomes friend, and friend to foe. An unholy savior sees the virtue of the darkest light. Penitence exacted for a kindness unshared.”

Madness. The old man was succumbing at last to the ravages of the illness. He was babbling incoherencies, nothing more than —

“WRITE IT DOWN!!”, the master bellowed. Such strength did his outburst take that his mouth contorted in a demonic fashion. Blood trickled from his split lips, as he began to tremble unconsciously; whether by excitement or insanity, I could not say.

Terror now ran wild through my body, the sheer incomprehensibility of what was transpiring nearly paralyzing my actions. “Master, what is happening? I don’t understand!”, I pled… though I did as he demanded.

The old man ignored me, and persisted in his mania. “Fear of power lost leads to fear of those who wield that power. The thousand-year crucible will be shattered by unsuspecting hands. The land will know the Lotus!”

The glint in his eyes shone, an impossible radiance that threatened to blind me. Slowly, the light subsided, to reveal… the old dying man. Whatever otherworldly vigor had possessed him had departed, leaving a creature even more pitiful than before. He spoke once more, in a tremulous whisper that seemed ready to collapse.

“… Remember the name… the one who guides the Lotus… Myouren…”

His time was at an end. The shock from that supernatural event nearly kept me from seeing it, but I caught it in time. Today, this man would die.

I waited silently, for he had more to impart upon me, though his voice became ever fainter. I strained to make out his dying words.

“…-eda no Aichi… -ust know… -ll her…”

His eyes closed. His breathing all but ceased. Silence so profound it became almost deafening.

Then my master spoke one final word.

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