Brother Bartholomew, Disciple of Stone, yawned and stretched his limbs as the first glimmers of sunlight poked their rosy fingers through his window and danced insistently on his his weary eyelids.
Another day, another dilophosaurus, as Master Sammo would say. Getting up at the crack of dawn was something so drilled into Bartholomew's routine that even nearly a half-century distant from the Monastery of Stone, he could not resist. After performing the most basic of ablutions, Bartholomew settled into his morning katas, as he had done for decades on end.
A stiff body begets a stiff mind; a stiff mind begets becoming a stiff.. The tenets and koans of his youth were coming more and more frequently to him recently. Bartholomew attributed this to his increasing unease with Leonidas's continued absence.
I had advised him that there was more unrest below the surface closer to home, but he was confident he would be back in less than three months. It has been much longer.
Bartholomew settled into a resting stance, and started his warm-ups.
Ha!, Ya!, ee-OOhf!, the exhalations that focused and channeled his ki sounded over the carefully cleared and raked training area right outside his hut. As he continued, he thought of the unexpected twists and turns his life had taken. The ancient mantras filled his mind and he whispered them, almost unthinkingly.
Stone is the bedrock on which we build our lives. Stone is solid. Stone is dependable. Stone is unyielding. Yet, stone can be carved. Stone may be shaped by wind, water, or people. Stone is beautiful—both raw and shaped. Be as stone. Remote and cold or close and warm; whichever is needed. Strong and unchanging or shaped to purpose. In every circumstance of your life, be a Disciple of Stone.
As he flowed between offense and defense, he remembered…
[ +- ] The Monastery of Stone
A newborn orphan deposited at the base of the 2,500 steps that led up to the main complex. The students bringing the infant to the master, who decided to keep the boy.
The imposing Master Sammo as seen through the eyes of a four-year old orphan. Larger than life; as wide as he was tall. Hands that could crush ankylosaurus armor yet cradle an anchiornis egg without it cracking. A smile which lit up the room; a frown that could quiet a royal messenger at 20 yards. Worst of all, a look of disappointment that could pierce the heart more effectively than a spear.
A five-year-old Bartholomew tasked with scrubbing the dinosaur spoor. If we had only birds, that would be so much easier. But no, we have arambourgiania and thapunngaka with spoor feet long. And the smell! First the training areas, then the ledges, soon, the six and seven year old Bartholomew was scaling the cliffs with neither rope nor grapnel and scrubbing the temples. Then the cooking, the other cleaning, the running of messages, the constant race up-and-down the 2,500 steps.
Of course, in hindsight, this was all physical and mental conditioning.
The nine-year old Bartholomew waiting on Master Sammo when he sat in judgement. Two local peasants seeking the guidance of Master Sammo in a dispute. After the peasants had plead their case, the master told them to return the next day. When they had left, Master Sammo turned to Bartholomew and ask him what he thought.
Master Sammo bringing Bartholomew with him whenever he had to engage in adjudication or politics. "You will serve the people more with your mind than your body, young Bartholomew" the master had told him.
The barely teen-aged Bartholomew tearfully bidding his master farewell before being taken to the royal palace to apprentice to the king's advisors.
The disciplines of the monastery serving Bartholomew well as he learned the intricacies of royal politics, the many duties of the king, and how he could serve.
The good times, the bad times. The dalliances which led nowhere. The duels that left others with scars on their face and Bartholomew with scars on his soul. The late-night deals between the palace and the underworld when needed. The late-night raids by the palace guards when the deals went awry.
Drawing his staff, Bartholomew switched from the unarmed styles to those using the bo. Spinning like a dancer, he continued to reminisce about how he grew older and wiser—closer to Leonidas and his court. He remembered rejoicing with the king and queen when young
Shalla was born, drinking toasts and praising the One True God deep into the night. He smiled as he remembered how she gravitated to the mechanical arts even as a young child. Disassembling her toys and reassembling them in novel fashion was just the start.
As Bartholomew flowed from stance to stance, spinning the staff so quickly as to appear as a wheel of wood, his mind fluttered over the myriad trade deals, border disputes, unruly nobles, and strange bedfellows of the intervening years. He then thought of his own network within the palace compound. Over the years a collection of clerks, servers, laundresses, the unseen and unheard. Never too many; the king's military and law enforcement had their own networks, after all, but enough to take the pulse of the royal compound, at least. One of his most important agents was a very talented halfling,
Belladona. A talented musician and discrete courier, she was attached to
Shalla's entourage. Ostensibly, to both provide entertainment to the young princess and to serve as her discreet factotum. More accurately, however, she was an integral part of the princess's security detail, being ever so slightly more deadly than the average flautist.
As Bartholomew started his cool down, his thoughts inevitably turned to Leonidas's unreasonably long absence.
He should have returned weeks ago. Bartholomew's network was picking up more signs of unease in the population. Informers which used to veritable founts of information for a few coins or drinks had completely dried up. Contacts did not respond. Some of his agents to the south had not returned their messenger birds in over a week. For the first time in years, Bartholomew was seriously concerned about unrest. He used the excuse of age to bring his staff with him everywhere. He started carrying his healing herbs on his person.
Wiping himself off, Bartholomew plodded back to his hut, washed himself from his exertions, and dressed for the day. Making his way to the kitchens for his customary morning tea, he noticed that the cook staff seemed upset; some of the regular faces weren't there and new ones were. One of the new staff approached Bartholomew with a steaming cup of tea.
Thank you, said Bartholomew as he took his first sip.
Hmmm, the tea is more floral and slightly more acrid than usual. Is the blend off?, Bartholomew turned to the server when he was hit by an overwhelming sense of enervation and lethargy.
Oh no! he thought in horror as he found himself slipping to the floor…
Bartholomew awoke, manacled and chained, in a cage on the back of a huge Quetzalcoatlus. Channeling his mental discipline
be as stone…be as stone…be as stone repeating through his mind, he took stock of the situation. He was whole in body, unharmed, and still had his staff and pouches, thank the one true god.
Sometimes it is good to be underestimated. Looking around at his and the other flying lizards, he realized he was one of a few captives. He recognized the princess and Belladona, of course. There was also one of the cooks,
what was his name; Kismet, Kimjet, Kimbek, yes Kimbek, and a rather impressively-built dwarf whom he did not recognize.
So it was a coup after all, given that the princess is here as well. Bartholomew was furious with himself.
I sensed it was brewing, but not the immanency. How foolish and complacent have I become in my dotage?? Not knowing what would happen next, Bartholomew decided he must conserve his strength—both physical and mental—and brought himself into a light meditative trance.
After some time, the reptiles landed in and masked guards forced them out of their cages onto the ground in what was clearly a jungle environment.
Enjoy the rest of your lives, howsoever long or brief it may be, one of the guards said cruelly.
And never fear, the new regime can honestly say you were alive and healthy last we knew! He laughed as he remounted the lizard and flew off into the afternoon sky.
Bartholomew looked around him.
No immediate threats. First order of business is to round everyone up and take stock of what supplies and skills we have. Survival must take priority to justice—or revenge. We must have a fire, water, and set up a watch before night falls. We can worry about food in the morning. With that thought, Bartholomew went searching for the princess and the others.
