The Shinjito Mountain shrine lay twenty seven miles from the nearest village. Barely a village at that, boasting four shacks, half again as many chickens, and one solitary yak so fat I supposed it ate the rest of the herd. One of the shacks was a waystation, or so they claimed, available for rent to the wealthy pilgrims who sometimes passed. Looking at the ramshackle structure, I could not imagine anyone with a shred of taste taking but a single step under its roof. Still, many of the rich were fools, a fact I so often profited from.
Twenty seven miles of hills and valleys brought me only to the first of five thousand steps. I paused at the base, lowering my sword and pack, both of which had grown quite heavy over the last leg of my journey. Prevailing upon the nearby stream, I decided that it was time for tea. There are niceties to be observed, after all, at least for any civilized person.
Perhaps two miles back I had passed a lone hunter carrying his heavy kill slung across his shoulders. He nodded in greeting, but did little to hide his disdain.
Yes, peasant, stare at the flamboyant stranger with his elegant clothes and fancy sword. Why yes, he is dripping with sweat dripping as a result of climbing up and down your damnable mountains. Isn't that hilarious?
Go on, keep walking. Go back to grubbing for dirt in your tiny village. I'm sure you enjoy yourself.
Tea was exquisite, at least, despite the meanness of my wooden cup. Nothing quite matches the subtle taste striking your lips as you watch the sun climb over a mist covered mountain forest. I'm certain the view was better from the shrine itself, but it was for those that I had come.
Despite its remoteness, the shrine was famous for three reasons. Foremost of these were its legendary healing waters, said to be the primal waters of life, fed from the beating heart of the great mountain until it came bursting clean and pure from a sprint at the summit. The villagers held even the tiny mountain streams holy, and were quick to say so when hawking their sealed containers.
I smiled again, sipping on my "holy" tea. I felt no magic in it, no great lifespring of health or energy, but it was refreshing. As are all good teas.
"Well," I said as I packed my bowl and eyed the endless stairs, "I'm not getting any closer as I sit."
Smiling wearily, I took the first of many steps.
Though not exactly worn, the steps certainly showed signs of passage. The shrine was often a spot of pilgrimage for the wealthy and superstitious, not to mention the desperate. Those who could made the grueling trip up the mountain that they might drink directly from the great spring. The ill and infirm sent servants or relatives, who would (after making lavish gifts) be permitted to dip a flask into the pool that they may deliver these most potent of healing waters.
Over the centuries, those treasures themselves had become legendary. Heirlooms of kings and emperors gone by, the rulers had long since passed from this world along with whatever ailments they possessed. Only their treasures lingered. Even had the spring dried up, still some would come to see the wonders of craftsmanship and elegance that had collected over the centuries.
Then there were others - like me - who would claim those treasures for themselves.
Thus enters the third legend of the shrine. The fabled maiden guardian of the mountain. Last daughter from a long line of women warriors, their skills and power passed down from mother to daughter over the centuries. Or, if you believed wilder tales, there was but a single guardian, kept immortal over the centuries by that selfsame water they guarded.
I was more inclined to believe the first, their strength more attributable to this blasted steep mountain than some mystical water. Genuine magic was a rare and precious thing, after all, and I had seen little sign of it so far.
At the last set of one hundred steps, I paused to comport myself. Setting aside my pack behind a hollow tree, I made certain my clothes and grooming properly displayed the native elegance I believed myself to possess. There was power to be had in the art of a first impression, and I would settle for nothing short of perfection.
Though I had been observed throughout my ascent, I found her waiting and composed as I made my way to the shrine's base. Knelt before a statue, white robed and sword at her side. Motionless, as one locked in the deepest meditation, she seemed more fixture of the shrine than a person.
As I approached, she stood and bowed. A formal gesture that I returned freely. As always, proper etiquette was an essential foundation for any meaningful life, and I would not shirk it here just because I intended to pilfer her holy shrine.
At a glance, I saw her take in every facet of my appearance. My costly garments not the typical fashion of a pilgrim, but clearly fine. The sword at my side. A reasonable precaution for a lengthy and uncertain journey, but also a threat. Taking in my lanky frame, I saw she judged me little threat. A blow to me pride, but only a small one, given what was to follow.
The lady herself was something to behold. Perfectly composed, her pure white gown was immaculate. Not a fiber of cloth out of place, nor even a single strand of her lustrous black hair. I had not expected her beauty, the radiance that shone clearly in her delicate face. No squat, mannish brute of a warrior as I had been expecting, the woman before me was utterly exquisite in every way. Just as much a treasure as those she guarded.
Neither had I expected the cold intelligence in her eyes. The stark, all observing regard held within. All poise and grace, yes, but with hidden power too, and clearly used to being in control. This was a formidable woman.
"Welcome, o weary pilgrim," she said formally, "I greet you and bid you enter. May you bring peace with you, and find peace within."
In other words, don't start trouble, and I won't have to put you down. Prettily said, despite the menace it veiled.
"I greet you also, maiden of the shrine," I said, again bowing formally, "blessings be upon you, and on your house."
Eyes still upon my sword, she ushered me inside the foyer of the shrine where tea was waiting. The shrine was as impressive inside as out, make no mistake. Lovingly carved from tall hardwood panels not native to this prefecture, every inch was a magnificent ode to style and beauty. The artist within me weeped to behold them. And yet, the thief within noticed a marked absence of gold, jewels, and all the rest of their fabled wealth. Had I been lied to?
My eyes scanned the room, seeking out what a cursory glance had missed. Along the back wall, I found it. What I had taken for a decorative panel was actually a stout wooden door. As lovingly crafted as all the rest, save that it also guarded the passage beyond. Clever, why risk your wealth when it might also be held safe behind lock and key? No matter how good your guard.
Or had her legend been exaggerated?
The tea was marvelous. The gift of some distant traveler, perhaps. Or else another carefully guarded secret of their mountain, for I did not quite recognize the flavor. No wooden bowls here, instead we sipped carefully from dainty cups thin as an eggshell. The view was quite different here, to be sure, but considering the lady across from me, it was no less lovely.
Our conversations included much careful ceremony, but little in the way of substance. I allowed that, following the proper forms as the conversation moved towards its intended path.
"Though I have come to pay homage to your fabled waters, and return some - if I may - to my ailing grandfather, I have also heard rumor of the great and marvelous wonders held within this shrine. I would see them, if it is permitted."
"Of course," said with a small bow, "Though as they are held within the inner shrine, five days of fasting and purification must precede your visit."
I bowed again. Another formality. I had known of the rituals, though not of the hidden door.
"Ah, but my grandfather is quite ill," I told her. Though it had been many years since I'd seen him, and unlikely the old bastard was still alive. On the plus side, she had at least confirmed their presence. With luck, she might open the door before we reached our inevitable confrontation.
"Alas, I have not the five days to spare. Might I be favored with just a short glance."
