The Golden Eyed Monk

The wild forces whipping around the monk, nature itself seemed to be pulling the young man towards the vortex of swirling death and rock below. His heel on the edge of the cliff, the jagged rocks cut his bare feet, as the spear aimed at his heart made clear its intentions.

Surrounded by his fellow disciples, the young monk was more than aware of their jealousy towards him. Still, he never thought such bitterness would lead them to this point. Abbot had warned him that their hatred would turn to fear, and that fear to evil, but of all the teachings he’d absorbed from his master, this was one he simply could not accept.

For how could a heart so pure understand the wickedness of man? Yes, his fellow disciples had bullied him. They’d forced him to do their chores and mocked his ever placid face. “A young man of his age should have more vigor,” they would say, “be less serious and laugh more often.” They would play pranks on him, such as throwing his clothes in the river or sticking tiny needles in his sandals. All this was done in an attempt to get a reaction from the boy, to make him scream or cry or explode with rage. Yet nothing seemed to work. The young saint bore his miseries with bountiful humility. After all, at that time, he thought them nothing more than petty pranks.

Most thought the golden eyed monk was faking his humility, or simply too stupid to understand their cruelty. Few could accept that a boy of only 17 was in truth imbued with a natural gift for wisdom and dedication that those like themselves could never hope to achieve, even if they were to be reborn a thousand times. Such was the rarity of his grace, that his parents had him dedicated to the temple at the tender age of four. For even then the light of his spirit shined true, manifesting from birth through a pair of enrapturing golden eyes, which seemed to see through everything.

These golden eyes frightened as many as they allured and were the source of much controversy both within and outside of the monastery. “Is he the child of a demon?” Some would whisper, “No a god!” others would cry. Such rumors only increased the wariness of his fellow disciples, and thus their tortures upon him as well. Despite their cruelty, however, the young monk could not believe such petty acts would lead to his current situation.

Wrists bound behind his back, and ankles tied to a bag weighted with stones, they’d prepared him as a sacrifice, to be thrown down into the Mouth of Heaven, as was called the whirlpool beneath the cliff they now stood atop.

He should have predicted this, but he could not fathom the extent to which the fear and anger had swelled in their hearts. These emotions initially sparked from the Abbot’s favoritism towards the golden eyed child, a fondness which only increased when on the child’s 12^th birthday, the mark of wisdom suddenly appeared, emblazoned above his brow. From then on, the Abbot forbade him to shave his head, that he may honor the heavenly mark appropriately. Although the young monk obeyed his teacher, he would on occasion cut the ends of his hair in order to subdue any potential thoughts of vanity. Yet whether his head were shaved or adorned with poorly cut locks, his beauty was undeniable, as well as envied by the other disciples. They thus felt themselves righteous in their hatred towards him. These  dark feelings had grown all the more malicious recently, since several months ago, during the monk’s bi-annual visit to the village below the monastery, it was revealed that the golden eyed child had been gifted another unnatural power. The power was such that whenever one bemoaned their miseries before him, as people often do to men of holy professions, all the boy need do was sing solemnly for the peace of their souls, and that person would be healed in body and mind.

To the other monks, this was more than enough evidence to warrant sacrificing the golden eyed creature within their midst to the Mouth of Heaven, where all things not belonging to that world were thrown into in centuries past.

“It’s unnatural!” The head disciple shouted, “such gifts can only come from heaven or hell! They do not belong to this world! You should return to your kind!” He encouraged the others to step forward, their weapons sharpened and ready to pierce their bound and frightened brother.

For the first time he reacted as they’d wanted. Golden eyes wide, his body shook. “Why?” Emotions he’d never addressed swelled within him. “I thought you were my brothers. How could you do this? Can’t you see that I am a man, just like you?! We chant the same sutras, eat the same food, sleep on the same mats, do the same chores, and learn from the same teacher. We are not of different schools but of one thought. How can you say I am from heaven or hell? These things are unworldly blessings, true, but they are not my own. I am no more divine nor demonic than any of you!”

This earnest plea was taken as mockery. “How dare he call us brothers,” they thought, “when it is so clear he stands above us in the eyes of both Abbot and heaven.”

“Enough!” The head disciple shouted over the now whipping wind. “Return to where you’ve come from demon!” And with a thrust of his spear into the young boy’s shoulder, the golden eyed child went toppling over the cliff, and into the Mouth of Heaven.

As he fell, he screamed. His voice echoed around him as the rocky walls grew taller, and the howls of the wind met his pitch. Yet in this billowing journey to the far reaching death below, the wind, in gracious kindness, pulled the spear from his chest. It was as if a deity had imbued itself into the natural force and had wished to aid him. Yet despite this generosity, it did not see fit to lessen the impact of his body against the spinning torrent. Only the wild movement of the water saved him from instant death, as it seemed to rise up to meet him, allowing him to role with its swells. Perhaps this was another spirit showing mercy to the benevolent monk, for though the waves whirled him harshly round its dipping spiral, they did so in a way that saved him from smashing against the jutting boulders of the jagged cliffside. Yet this being’s blessings were also limited, as it too did nothing when the sea at last swallowed him whole.

Silent in the depths of the blue, the deity of wind returned once more, working in sync with the spirit of water to guide the monk along a current and out to sea, where no reefs could cut or bruise his already wounded and bleeding body.

In an attempt to swim towards the surface, the monk broke free from the current, and unwittingly from his saviors as well. Those forces which had been holding him but a few breaths from the cool ocean air were thus abandoned, and because his limbs were restrained, despite his youthful strength, he sank.

The light of the surface dimming quickly, the pull of the weighted bag around his feet hastened his watery descent. His dark hair lifting upwards, the blood from his wound poisoned the water, as the salt stung his open flesh.

“Is this my fate?” He thought, dark lids dimming over those dulling golden eyes. “Will the gods be pleased with such a reviled sacrifice as myself, one whose cursed eyes and supposed blessings have led to a death such as this? Will they be disappointed by the ugliness I feel writhing inside me from my brothers’ betrayal? Or will they pity how short a life I lived, and reward me with peace in the next? I know Nirvana is not yet in reach, for I cannot help but curse my destiny and those that led me to it.”

His lungs burning hot, he could no longer hold his breath. And as the water rushed in, and his body jerked in its final attempts at life, the young monk couldn’t help but think. “Ah, how beautiful.” For even in his unheard wails of pain and despair, amidst the deepening indigos of death, he saw a glitter of life. The scales and fins of a great creature encircled him, patiently awaiting his demise. “At least in death I will become life for another.” He thought in morbid comfort.

Closing his eyes just as the pain reached beyond bearable levels of consciousness, he felt something cold press against his lips. With that cold sensation, the water freed itself from his lungs, as a warm breadth enveloped his body.

Golden eyes shooting open, they met the pale-blue chin of a woman. Attempting to pull back from she whom had forcefully broken his vow of abstinence, he found himself still bound, and the woman, not like any he’d ever seen before.

Dark blue hair like sea vines billowed behind her, as black eyes with shining blue iris’s beamed at him. The silvery dress draped over her body was like that of a blooming spider lily, narrow at the top, yet exploding in a thousand directions at the point where her knees should have been. Instead of legs, her torso led into a long sapphire tail, which was twice the size of his own body.

Still upside down, the creature grinned broadly, and to his surprise, did not have predatory teeth. “How cruel humans are,” He heard a voice whisper, though she did not move her lips. “to want to kill such a beautiful child, one who’s eyes are like that of the sun.”

Although the young monk was now able to breathe easily, he did not dare open his mouth to respond.

“I have taken a liking to you.” She spun slowly, her glowing ocean irises now upright as they leveled with those of the boy. “Come, you are mine now. I will take you to a place beyond the waves, to a land where my people rule, and no harm shall ever come to you.” With those words, her webbed hand waved over his face, and he fell into a deep slumber.

…

As the years passed, just as the woman had promised, and in spite of his greatest efforts to the contrary, the monk would indeed live a life of luxury and peace. That is, until the weight of his blessings became too heavy for his body to bear, and he entered a sleep from which he would never again awake. It was then that the near eternal queen, who had wanted only for a new companion to entertain her long and lonely years, found more in a boy who had less of them to give. But that is a tale for another time, the tale of the golden eyed monk and the fairy of the sea.