Chapter 2

Sensei Rubpo thought he was rewarding us when he suggested weapons, swords, but Miksu already had her whip, and I couldn’t see myself sticking sharp steel through anyone, or slicing them open so their insides fell out. Hoji and I agreed that he should focus on perfecting his own body/mind enhanced power and the subtleties that could be created as being much more fun than brute-forcing it. Once he was fully body fluent, he could add tools into the mix. I wasn’t certain his personal Samurai mythology extended to swords, the tool can limit the options.

However, I didn’t want to hurt Sensei’s feelings by spurning his reward, and some steel climbing claws wouldn’t be amiss so I accepted his directions to head up past the end of the bamboo and over a pass I would find, to follow the smell of burning coal down to the Sword smith’s forge, he was expecting me. I wondered at how he would know, and Sensei Rubpo giggled and gasped so he could hardly be understood to say ‘telephone! he has one too!’

Since it was just after breakfast, I bade farewell to my sibs and Sensei, the latter still weakened and breathless from the humor he had found, and headed into the treetops, wondering to myself if I could learn to reliably cause debilitating hilarity as a defensive strategy. I took my time, learning what the bamboo had to tell me with all my focus as I swayed over the treetops like a gusting breeze.

At the upper end of king bamboo’s reign it seemed more than slope hindered further growth, the trees got shorter and stunted right before they gave up altogether although the ground seemed flat enough barely. it was as if there was some invisible layer which they couldn’t grow above as if they were lotus plants in an unseen pond. It felt strange to walk on solid ground again, instead of the springy forest duff. I had to put all my attention on my surroundings as this was so different from the bamboo which had become second nature to me.

I paused, to learn what the rocks could tell me, and the air above them and the spaces between them held information much as the bamboo did. When I thought my knowing was adequate, I proceeded onward. As I topped the pass and started downward, I knew I was being carefully observed, but with playful mischievousness and not ill intentions.

I had my marching orders so I was undismayed at the rough characters painted on the rock faces prohibiting passage and warning of danger, even to the universal skull and crossbones recognizable more from context and intention than the careless white blobs of paint. I would suspect the author was barely literate.

I sensed the watchers in the airy echos not of sound but of space, they never showed themselves over the rocks by which they hid themselves from me. The first trap was well hidden and cleverly done, but not intended to cause serious harm. I avoided it with a thought for my audience, overacting theatrically only to be rewarded a little distance later by a series of traps of expert setting which took my full attention to avoid every one, hopping and spinning as if I was in the finals for advanced hopscotch championships.

I landed on Home, grateful that it wasn’t a final trap as I wouldn’t have been up to that even only a week ago. I made an overly formal bow to my invisible audience instead of collapsing to my knees, trying not to let on just how difficult I had found that particular series of traps to evade. I did hear a soft smattering of perhaps involuntary applause (the most sincere sort) which only let me know there were more than two.

The only way to move about Sensei Rubpo’s bamboo house when Miksu was practicing in spite of the open and airy floor plan was to move smoothly and confidently, trusting that she wouldn’t skewer or lacerate one with her expertly delivered missiles. Good thing cured bamboo is tough, by all the little holes though one might well believe Sensei Rubpo’s house to be infested with bamboo borer beetles.

With my full attention on my surroundings, I ignored the flashing projectiles as the intent behind them was not deadly, but one was miss thrown and I had to be careful in evading it not to move into the path of the flashing bits of steel on both sides. I moved just enough and caught it between my arm and side, faking a hit just to see what the response would be.

When the three small figures hovered over me worriedly I didn’t want to squelch their concern over a possibly injured stranger in the future, so instead of binding them I merely gathered them up for a friendly tickle. I had enough hands and knees and elbows to keep all three helpless in the paroxysm of reaction since my attention had me knowing where the tickle was as well as pain and pleasure to be found on their forms and I didn’t stop until one had gasped ‘Uncle’ whereupon they were released and I concentrated on the remaining two, quickly obtaining surrenders from them as well.

They were put out, thinking even if one of them had flubbed a throw I shouldn’t have suckered them in like that. But they had all cried ‘Uncle’, so that was that. besides, they were out of spikes and stars, and would have to find them all, no excuses. I offered to help, and found that the pure metal was loud against the rock’s whispers. When we set off for the forge I couldn’t tell if I was the prisoner or if they were my captives. Perhaps they were my guardian guides.

On arriving at the mountain forge the three brats ran to the squat, begrimed hairy man, who’s powerful arms seemed longer than his height would suggest. ‘Grampa, he tickled us and made us cry Uncle!’ they tattled. ‘Did he touch under your clothes? Did he touch on your forbidden places? The powerful mountain smith rumbled mildly, sounding almost disinterested in their prattle. They hung their heads sheepishly and mourned ‘No... ‘ ‘How did he get all three of you in arm’s reach because that is the only way he could get the three of you to say Uncle.’ the smith reasoned. ‘Wren flubbed a throw and the big faker faked a hit.’ gave up the thoughtful one. The smith gave me an appreciative nod. I knew he understood my milder response to flying missiles.

I don’t doubt Sensei Rubpo had informed him of my character and mindfulness which is why he had allowed his granddaughters to continue their border-war games at the pass, no one ever used it which is why that was their domain. I hoped I hadn’t squelched their territoriality by defeating them, the first challenger to come up against their domain. Beat their best traps! I made sure to praise them to their grandfather, and the other unseen smith clan, as grandchildren intimated sons, daughters, parents, daughter-in-laws, other grandparents and so on. When I sat down with the clan for dinner that night I found I wasn’t that far off.

‘So, you have come for a sword?’ the smith suggested mildly, seemingly not surprised at my negative answer. ‘I thought some climbing claws, fingers and toes. I wouldn’t mind a bamboo knife with the inside hook and a chopping down hatchet.’

He wished he could see me moving around in the bamboo, but there were pine trees on this side of the ridges, and he would like to see me move through them if I would. It took a little adaptation, the only give to the wood was the vertical spring of the branches, but soon I was flinging noisily through the trees. When the smith’s attention was at it’s ebb I let the commotion fade as I thought squirrel thoughts, I didn’t want to give away my nut stash by moving from my spot. I felt amusement from the smith, and he called his granddaughters to him, asking them if they could find me in the trees.

I left the trees as they entered the pine wood, like a squirrel keeping the thick trunks between myself and the three girls as their search pattern had some holes. It would be very difficult to have no holes with only three searchers. I chose my moment and stood next to the smith as if I had never left his side until he became aware of me there. He nodded companionably and gestured for me to follow him on a tour of his forge. ‘Aren’t you going to call off the search?’ I wondered. ‘it’s their punishment’ he replied simply.

‘I see Rubpo has taught you his knack for not being noticed. He used to annoy me horribly. I am his brother Waghan. You and I are also kin. What I most notice you could use is a greater reach. Perhaps combine the bamboo chopper and hook splitter into a more useful telescoping flick club. I think I know just what to make for you, and as an added bonus, it can be used sort of like a sword so Rubpo would be happy. Good finger and toe climbing spikes are never amiss.’

He took my measure, and arm wrestled me to gauge my strength. I was a child in his powers grasp, as of course I was, and he was a mighty smith. Perhaps Hoji might provide resistance to his arm’s will, but I for one would not bet that way.

He got lost in the project then, I wasn’t dismissed as much as I faded from his awareness as his focus became the project, and his powerful will was directed at shaping the steel from his imagination into fully formed useful tools. Helpers appeared and became extensions of his will, stoking the furnace and pumping the bellows, preparing the stage for the master smith to perform his magic. In a last aside acknowledging realities other than his creation the smith mentioned ‘Gonna be about a week. Why don’t you take the girls to see their great uncle Rubpo tomorrow. Teach them a bit about the bamboo, and serve the little bastard right.’

I took that as permission to rescue the girls, Wren who had flubbed her throw, Juki who had surrendered first, and Yoki who had answered her grandfather and thrown Wren under the bus. I also thought of her as “the thoughtful one”. when I arrived back at the piney wood the three were still diligently pursuing the task set them, although they had to suspect it was a fool’s errand by now. To their credit, they didn’t blame me when they noticed me there, but were just relieved that I had been found and they need not search any more.

They even seemed excited to be permitted into the bamboo in my company tomorrow, as such ventures had erstwhile been forbidden. The smith was present at dinner, seated at the head of the long stout crowded table, but no one seemed to think his remoteness as he engaged in contemplating his latest project noteworthy or rude. Instead, conversation flowed and ebbed on all sides and on various topics, such that I had to really focus my attention to hear every conversation. I did hear the promises extorted by the three girls parents (two sisters and a cousin) to mind, for me.

I found a place to sleep over the mantle, there were some deep woven niches meant for cold winter nights, but I was unused to the chill of the rarer air here in the heights.

The next morning we set out after an early cold breakfast, and there was no fog on this side of the ridge. Did the bamboo have a role in causing the fog somehow as well as benefiting from it? The girls were as fearless and agile as mountain goats, bounding from prominence to prominence. I had to know my footing precisely. They disarmed all the traps as we passed through the pass, as they would not be there to attend them, and it isn’t nice to leave traps unattended.

On reaching the green sea of king bamboo, they found it too difficult to ascend to the treetops, so Yoki followed by her sister and her cousin raced to a nearby outcrop of stone and flung herself off into the treetops followed an instant later by the other two. There they hung like stranded kittens.

Individually they were just too light to make the bamboo sway far enough to reach the next stalk of bamboo. They were forced to use teamwork, and it took them more effort to traverse the treetops than I or my sibs with our somewhat greater weight. If they continued to train in concert I could see what an effective team they would grow into. They were tired enough to not cause trouble when we arrived at home for now, and tomorrow they would be Sensei Rubpo’s problem to keep them occupied and out of mischief.