Anaeriel's room in the tavern was sparsely furnished, but richly decorated. The walls, small table, bed, and chairs were all wooden, and hastily crafted, but curiously enough, the floor and the wash basin were both stone. There were medals, inscribed with languages that Li Hama could not read, pinned to a cork board that had itself been tacked to the wall at its four corners. Lovely sashes, dyed the radiant oranges, splendid golds, and robust reds of the most beautiful sunsets were strung all around the room on tacks that hadn't been hammered all the way into the walls, clearly left proud for their purpose. A few clay incense holders in the corners of the room had nothing but ash in them, but the holder with the squat, slotted metal pot that was filling the air with a delicate jasmine scent looked as though it were solid black stone. Only the small flicker that occasionally made itself seen at its midnight base let Li Hama know that the flame responsible for slowly warming the incense rested within the brutal piece. There were a few leaf rubbings tacked to the walls, and some flowers hung upside down to dry. The latter made Li Hama think on Anaeriel himself. The concept of him was so sadly beautiful; somehow made a dry shell of the highly-esteemed and decorated archer that he used to be. A butterfly in amber, the impression of a rose pressed in a heavy book- but then, what was the amber that had trapped and suffocated him? What heavy event had, like a weighty tome, crushed out his life?
And then Li Hama sighed in frustration with himself. Not only was it ridiculous to fantasize about how "lifeless" or "delicate" the cheery, street-brawling, cider-loving Elf was, it was inappropriate to entertain such thoughts when he was supposed to be meditating. Years of training seemed to be doing the distracted monk no help; he could focus neither on his breath, nor on his centers of energy, nor even the awareness of the present moment. The imagination of Anaeriel loomed large in his mind, smiling gently without saying a word or moving a muscle- a silent witness to the utter failure of the Standing Tree's emissary.
The flesh-and-blood Anaeriel, either blissfully ignorant of his compatriot's struggle or very much aware of it, entered his own rented room with whispered footfalls. The spicy sweetness of warm cider and the tannin-heavy tang of fresh tea joined the incense's jasmine scent, and Li Hama carefully turned his eyes toward the door without moving any other part of himself. He watched the Elf place two steaming clay mugs down onto the knee-high, simple wooden table that was close to the warm stones of the chimney, then sit straight down on the floor, facing one of the two mugs. Since Li Hama could not follow Anaeriel's movements any farther to the right without turning around, he tried again to put banal, mundane matters out of his mind. The air was rapidly filling with the scent of Anaeriel's drinks, so Li Hama opted to try focusing on the energies within himself instead of on his breath.
Anxiety. Excitement. Disapproval. Loneliness.
The opposite side of the room was completely silent, which Li Hama noticed just seconds before admonishing himself against listening for any sounds that would indicate what Anaeriel was doing. He abruptly got up and walked over to where Anaeriel was sitting, crosslegged, with his gently closed hands comfortably resting on his thighs. The Elf allowed the shadow of a smile to play at his lips, but did not look up from his cider-filled flagon.
"Good morning, Friend Tree," he said in a welcoming tone. "I didn't want to disturb you, but your tea is just there, if you're wanting it now."
Li Hama immediately noted that his companion did not ask if he were thirsty or hungry, which was normally the first topic of conversation between the two men. "If you didn't want to disturb me, I wonder why you entered at all," he managed through a choked throat.
Anaeriel's smile seemed to fill out, or somehow become more real- not that it had been false to begin with. It simply seemed to transition from a shadowy semblance to a brighter, more solid thing.
"And when the trout saw the mussel, she cried, 'Go to, churl; wherefore clingst thou to my stone?' "
Li Hama blinked rapidly, then purposefully breathed out slowly. "I was meditating. It is the quieting and centering of the mind; the observation of the connection between one's self and all else in existence."
"Or, it's merely sitting," Anaeriel replied. The radiant emerald eyes of the Elf looked up from the cider-filled mug at last. The substance had not originally had alcohol in it, Li Hama knew; it was not the same drink as was drawn from barrels in the basement. Instead, what had once been pressed and barreled apple juice had been heated with spices, and had a rather high-proof liquor of some sort added to it. The sharp scent of the alcohol made the monk's nose burn.
Anaeriel took up the tea-filled mug intended for Li Hama. " 'Still yourself'," he said, almost too quietly for Li Hama to hear it. " 'You will see your likeness even in stone'."
"This... what is the intention of this practice?" Li Hama asked, looking from the tea to the man holding it up. "Did he who has three bears teach this way to you?"
"Come and see," Anaeriel encouraged.
Li Hama wasted a few moments in hesitation, then assumed the kneeling position that he would have while performing his own meditation practice. He looked at Anaeriel expectantly, but the Elf kept his eyes on the mug, and the tea within.
"Bend a little, Friend Tree," Anaeriel beckoned, his voice little more than a whisper. "Just a little will do."
Li Hama, deciding to take Anaeriel completely literally, sat just slightly forward and looked into the tea. When his conscience could bear it no longer, he slid his tender hands underneath and between Anaeriel's calloused hands so that he may at least hold his own mug. It was far warmer than the monk had at first suspected it might be- a testament to just how protective the thickened skin on the insides of the Elf's hands was. Anaeriel's hands allowed Li Hama's to take the weight of the tea, but did not depart completely, and for a few moments, Li Hama felt the thrill of being clasped by the hands race through his being.
And then came the embarrassment. Then, the guilt. Finally, the disapproval and reproach.
"Come," Anaeriel repeated. "Warmth felt terrible to one nearly frozen; it burned worse than any wildfire. Be still, and come."
Li Hama immediately craved the full story, and tried to put away the desire to ask Anaeriel about it. For a few distracted moments, the Standing Tree monk searched every corner of his mind for something to say or do.
And at last, there was the realization that he was doing exactly what Hai Shui had told him to do. More mindful of the name of Li Hama's order than Li Hama himself, Hai Shui had given the clear, but metaphorical instruction to "drink mud". To start at the bottom, with the basics, the nutrients of which all saplings have dire need. Anaeriel, faithful son of his father, had warned Li Hama in a way that also was metaphorical, but outside of Li Hama's ability to grasp. So now, here he was, breathing deeply, slowly, inviting Li Hama to do what Hai Shui must have called him to do after all the training, accomplishments, and accolades that had been gained in the years and battles through which the Elf had come.
Begin again.
The first thing Li Hama noticed, after that realization, was the slightly diminished heat of the cup itself. Soon afterward, he thought of the cup's weight and smoothness. The common folk of his homeland made such simple pieces of pottery, with no ornament or design that could embellish or detract from its intended purpose. In the moment that he thought this, he realized that he was still considering himself in a class apart from those people, as though he hadn't renounced his position and his family's wealth.
Still I cling to that definition of myself- I should have released that before I came here, yet... my master sent me out on this retrieval quest now, as I am. For what?
"Come and consider with me, Friend Tree," Anaeriel mused. "Is it possible to consume without having first been consumed?"
Li Hama, noticing that the tea was so dark that he could not see the bottom of the mug, allowed the question to float gently through his consciousness. In it, there seemed to be echoes of the exhortation to leave desires behind, but he quickly discarded that connection. Instead of focusing on whether or not it was needful to abstain from consumption, the question rested upon the conviction that consumption would happen. The sticking point was whether or not one could avoid the state of being consumed- the state of being partially or wholly possessed by the drive to obtain a given object, state or goal. And Li Hama thought at once of his own goal- true enlightenment.
Was it possible for Li Hama to achieve a life without desire without passionately desiring such a life? For what else could have driven him to abandon his family, the land and responsibility his father had set up for him, and the wife intended for him, apart from the passion and desire for a state of being that he believed outside of himself? If it was true that the definition of enlightenment was a life free of desire, but just as true that such enlightenment had to itself be chased down and brought to the self from elsewhere, then it would be just as impossible for him to attain it as it would be for a dog to catch her own tail. One of the two had to be erroneous- either the definition of enlightenment, or the focus of the methodology used to attain it.
Li Hama put the mug of tea down, and found that he had been holding it by himself. Anaeriel had returned his hands to his own lap, and was gazing into the mug of cider, but looked up when the monk's movement caught his eye.
"I can ask the bartender to pour me a bit of rum or whisky," the Elf noted. "To get the blood going. You've gone pale."
"You've called me Friend Tree for a while now," Li Hama said, reserving his deeper thoughts for further consideration. "Who are you?"
Anaeriel nodded slowly, but said, "Not who you are looking for."
"Perhaps not, but I've passed by too many of your kin without being able to tell you apart. If I don't find you, and myself before that, I may never find the one brother that my master sent me to bring back at all," the monk replied frankly.
"You've said it," Anaeriel said, getting up slowly. "Call me what you see, when you see me. For now, what do you think- rum or whisky?"
"How should I know, having had neither?" Li Hama chuckled. "I trust you, brother; bring your Friend Tree what you think is wise and prudent."
"Well, I've never seen blood scared back into someone's cheeks before, but I celebrate the rose of you," Anaeriel joked. "Let's get you some warm potato, so as to keep that colour where it belongs. And rum- a bit of sweetness for the occasion."
"The occasion?" the monk echoed, raising an eyebrow.
"The long-delayed beginning of your search," Anaeriel volleyed as he got up. "Today, Friend Tree, you take root."
