Michael Stackpole - Vol'jin - Shadows of the Horde

He arose, washed, and, when he returned to his cell, found a white robe laid out for him. He pulled it on, then followed the elusive piping of a flute to a courtyard away from the temple’s main precincts. Chen and Tyrathan stood there, along with the rest of the red and blue monks. Taran Zhu had appeared—undoubtedly flown in on a cloud serpent—and all of them wore white. Some of the monks, like Vol’jin, had been wounded in the fighting. They leaned on crutches or had arms in slings.

Five small white statues, no more than a handbreadth in height, carved of a soft stone, stood on a table to the side. Beside them were a small gong, a blue bottle, and five tiny blue cups. Taran Zhu bowed to the statues, then to the assembled crowd. They returned the bows. Then the master monk looked toward Chen, Tyrathan, and Vol’jin.

“When a pandaren becomes fully Shado-pan, the monk travels with one of our master artisans to the heart of Kun-Lai. They travel deep beneath the earth. They find the bones of the mountain and they mark out a little piece of it. The artisan then carves it into their likeness, leaving it connected to the bone. And when the wheel turns, and when that monk passes, the statue breaks free. The statues are gathered, and we store them in the monastery, so all may remember who have come before.”

Yalia Sagewhisper moved from the ranks of the monks and struck the gong. Lord Taran Zhu called out the name of the first monk. Everyone bowed until after the echoes of his voice had died. They straightened up again, the gong sounded, and Taran Zhu called out another name.

It surprised Vol’jin that he recognized the names and could easily call the faces to mind. Not as the monks were when they went to war, but before, during the time of his recovery. One had fed him strong broth. Another had changed his bandages. A third had whispered advice at playing jihui. He remembered each of them as they lived, and that both sharpened the pain he felt at their loss and closed the wound just a bit faster.

He realized that Garrosh, were they to have somehow changed places, would not recognize these five monks. He would understand them. He would have assessed them and measured them for their martial prowess. For their ability to project his power and will upon others. But that was all they would be to him, five or five thousand. His hunger for war did not permit him to know soldiers, just armies.

This be not how I wish to be . This was why, whenever he was home in the Echo Isles, he spoke with the trolls who had done well in their training. He made an effort to remember them and their names. He valued them and wanted them to know that. Not just so they would feel proud that he had taken notice of them, but so that he would not think of them as numbers to be pitched into the maw of war.

Once the last monk’s name had been spoken and everyone had straightened up, Yalia replaced the gong. She returned to the ranks and Chen stepped forward. He took up the cups—so very tiny in his paws—and placed one before each statue. Then he picked up the bottle.

“My gifts are not much. I do not have much to give. I have not given as much as they have. But my friends said that fighting the Zandalari would be thirsty work. This I intended to slake their thirst. While I am happy to share it with all of you, it’s these five who should drink first.”

He poured out a golden liquid in five equal measures into each cup. He bowed after each cup was filled, then set the bottle down on the table when he was done. Taran Zhu bowed to honor him, then the statues, and everyone else followed his lead.

The master monk looked at the others. “Our fallen brothers and sisters are pleased that you survived. You have honored them in doing this and in saving so many. That this may have required from you acts that you never thought you might have to commit is regrettable, but not insurmountable. Contemplate, grieve, pray, but know that what you have done has preserved the balance for many, and this is, after all, our purpose.”

After another round of bowing, Taran Zhu approached the three outsiders. “If you would favor me with consultation in these matters.”

Taran Zhu led them to a small room. A number of maps had been laid out in a detailed mosaic of Pandaria. Jihui pieces had been placed strategically. Vol’jin hoped against hope that the relative strengths were not meant to be reflective of reality. If they were, Pandaria was lost.

Taran Zhu’s sober expression suggested the pieces represented worse: optimistic estimates.

“I must confess, I am at a loss.” The monk swept a paw out at the map. “The Alliance and Horde incursions did not involve wholesale slaughter. They balance each other, and both sides have been useful in dealing with difficulties.”

Tyrathan’s eyes hooded. “Like the Serpent’s Heart.”

“The release of the Sha of Doubt, yes.” The pandaren hid his paws behind his back. “Either force is better suited to opposing this invasion than we are.”

Vol’jin shook his head. “Bad blood between everyone. No trust. They’d be slow to move. No telling where they would move to. Can’t be moving without secure supplies and flanks.”

Taran Zhu’s head came up. “Could neither of you influence your old allies?”

“My people tried to murder me.”

“It would be best for mine if I truly was dead.”

“Then Pandaria is lost.”

Vol’jin smiled, flashing teeth. “We be without a voice. We can be telling you how to speak to them. They gonna listen to reason. We be needing information to convince them, and I know how we be getting it.”

Chen Stormstout did a last check of his pack. He was pretty sure he had everything he needed. Physically, anyway. But there, at the temple gate, he lingered just a little longer.

And smiled.

Back in the courtyard, Li Li was organizing an oxcart. That meant she was commanding the Stoneraker brothers to load and shift things. They suffered less because of her tongue’s lash, Chen thought, than because they were afraid of her, and because they’d been growing to like her. Yalia’s father, Tswen-luo, helped with the loading, and his presence did dull Li Li’s commentary.

Yalia left off supervising Li Li and approached Chen. Were it not for a quick glance down as she came, he might have thought her all business. But that one little break, it made his heart soar. “We will soon be ready to go, Master Chen.”

“I can see that. I’m only sorry our paths will diverge so quickly.”

She looked back at where her family gathered in the first group of refugees. “It is a very good suggestion you have to send people to the Stormstout Brewery in the Valley of the Four Winds. It is a hard trip but worth it for their safety. I am very happy my family is among those chosen.”

“That just makes sense. There they can learn all they need to learn for the Zouchin brewery. I should have thought of it before.”

She laid a paw on his forearm. “I know you send my family because only by giving Li Li the mission of getting them there safely will she leave your side.”

“And I am pleased that you are going to see to her safety.” Chen busied himself tying his pack shut again. “It was not an easy thing, there on the road, to have to go away while you fetched others. It won’t be easy leaving now.”

She brought her paw up and caressed his cheek. “You honor me by entrusting Li Li to me, and my family to her.”

He turned and wanted to gather her into a hug, but he could feel all eyes upon them. He didn’t care what anyone thought, but he would not besmirch her dignity. He lowered his voice. “Were you not Shado-pan—”

“Hush, Chen. Were I not Shado-pan, we would never have met. I would have been a fishwife with a half dozen cubs. Had you come to Zouchin, you would have given me a smile and a nod. You would have breathed fire to make my cubs laugh, and that would have been the end of that.”