Flying Pearl Lake
"Everyone has settled in for winter, which means no more building for a while, and not much teaching, either. With the time we've had, we undertook to follow up on something that Master Rivers' saw when he flew to the Gray to slow the thunderbird's advance before the Battle of Breaking Iron. We found it right where he said it would be - a lake of still water formed at the end of a tributary, mid-way between Varsi and the Marukan Redoubt, in the center of a willow grove.
"Rivers' was right, of course - it's a manse. Or rather a demesne; the manse that capped it is long broken. I knew as soon as we reached the inmost ring of willows; they come close enough to the shore to dip their branches into the water, and we hid in their shadows as I worked the geomantic ritual Rivers showed us. The area's filled with water essence, which I expected from the lake - the water is still and pure and floats oversized lotus blossoms on the surface - but layered over that is the strong sense of lunar essence as well. We couldn't decide what to make of it without a more thorough survey, and the creatures kept us from that.
"They were animals, mostly, mutated things; cranes with carp scales, water bugs made giant, koi with predatory fangs... But there were the spirits, too. Heketa, brine curs, sobeksis; no fewer than five of each. Each group had claimed one of the flying bridges as their own territory; there were five, of willow wood inlaid with silver and pearl, spanning from the shore to a central island. Or at least they used to; three of the five have lost their arches into the lake and a fourth looks like it would collapse if any weight set on it. I wouldn't call what they did war, but more a sullen stalemate. A rainfall would set them to skirmishing again.
"Because of the elementals, we didn't want to risk crossing the last bridge to the center, but we saw a wide, terraced pavilion on the island before we left. It had two low stories with open walls, and Hatsu Shi swears that he saw divans inside; Nama Bi says it was just rubble from the roof. We couldn't get close enough to be sure, but I think the whole lake was once a carefully designed pleasure garden."
-- Ruki Nü, of The Xuan Wu Academy
"Sssssk. It is so different than it was before the day they made our quarrels ceased. At first, they left, and all was quiet. Then Rivers' warrior brother - the grim, unsmiling one, not the horse-lord with the spear and the loud voice - arrives, and sheds his tears upon the ground - that's where they built Grave of Humility, incidentally, but you'll never find the path there unless the Kussir wants you to come - and then the Copper Spider sent in his army of servants and shapers, all led by a mechanical gardener. Five days, sssk! A mere five days, and the ruined pleasure dome was quite gone. I barely recognize it anymore, and sometimes I still get lost in its endless paths and waterways. But I do not complain; this is a good place now, and the water-borne herbs I need grow in great abundance."
-- Chehbraterazim, favored Sobeksis healer of Rivers Between Us
The first wooden bridge was delicately carved, and was painted the same bold and reverent shade of vermillion as its sisters. Eight bridges in all arched over a deep green rushing stream of water; the path wandered from bank to bank, bridge woods, woods to bridge, back and forth across the stream. Beyond the furthest bridge lay the Nameless House, an austere and serene guest cottage where he had spent the night; in the pale glow of the early morning, he could feel the eight bridges sculpting the watery essence of the river into a geomantically auspicious arrangement.
"This," thought the young monk - and not for the first time that morning - "is not what I had expected to find in the sanctum of an Anathema warrior. Just what kind of a man is he?"
Soho's morning walk through the winding paths of Flying Pearl Lake took him past many groves, peaceful and pleasant all, and all featuring a babbling brook or churning waterfal or even just a serene and silent reflecting pool. Some of these groves were being tended to by gardeners, both mortal and Elemental. Others were currently occupied by wildlife; flocks of birds, or a family of deer, or even just a school of brilliant koi in the water. Still others stood utterly silent and empty. Had he not already recited his morning sutras upon the porch of the Nameless House, any of the groves would have served as suitable places to meditate upon wind and wood. But now, bow and arrows in hand, he sought to undertake a different sort of meditation.
He approached a familiar-looking intersection of paths; ah yes, were he to turn left here, he would arrive at the Hearth of the Heart, whose well-stocked kitchens and whose threefold banquet halls - one suited for for five, one for fifty, and the last for five-hundred guests - stood ready should he choose to break his fast. Soho had dined there alone the previous night, in the smallest of the banquet halls - little more than a room designed for a tea ceremony. The meal had been an impeccable cha-kaiseki presentation of simple monastic foods - rice with sesame seeds, small portions of raw and steamed freshwater fish, crisp diced root vegetables, tofu, boiled egg, and a steaming kettle of Hiparkes Brand tea.
"Truly," thought the monk, "I cannot tell whether this place is truly the work of serene discipline, or merely a most elaborate facade."
But it was not yet time for such leisure. He turned right, towards the faint sound of crashing waters. The stream that the path was following suddenly plunged into a deep cleft in the rock, a winding gorge carved by a thousand years. The path, for its part, took a more leisurely path down the hillside, through a series of switchbacks lined with stone lanterns. At the bottom, Soho stopped to admire the water's inexorable path. Far above him, perched at the top of the cliff above the gorge, stood a house on stilts, its design not dissimilar to that of the Nameless House. "This must be the Ravine House, the residence of my storied host," the monk thought. The path he walked did not lead to the house, and there was no obvious route through the treacherous, spray-soaked rocks to the pinnacle of the hill; clearly, to approach the Ravine House one must take a different path through the watery woods.
Soho pondered this for a moment. "The landscape reveals much that might otherwise be hidden. He thinks of himself as one set apart, one unapproachable. He shuns the comfort of his fellow man." The young monk frowned and turned his attention to the building's construction. "Who builds a house without a foundation? A man who does not fear catastrophe? Or a man who invites it?"
At the bottom of the hill, the white waters settled down into a broad flat slow-flowing delta dotted with sandbars and patches of bamboo. An immensely broad wooden platform ringed with banners spanned these sandbars. The platform was practically large enough to serve as a parade ground, long enough even for the practice of Yabusame. Indeed, three wooden archery targets stood in the appropriate places. Along the rim of the platform, just inside the ring of banners, stood a long line of weapons-racks sporting a stunningly comprehensive array wooden practice implements, neatly grouped by size and role. Of all the groves in the Flying Pearl Lake, this place - with stalwart bamboo all around, with serene waters below and cloudless sky above - was the most geomantically suitable for the practice of martial arts.
This was the Place of the Promise. This was Soho's destination for though Nameless Ravine was nowhere to be found this morning, his spirit hung heavy upon the place. "I shall meditate with my bow," thought the monk, "and through such excercises perhaps I shall pierce the veil of mystery and understand the innermost nature of my host."
