The View from the Peak
The air is thin and cold atop Mount Kurama. Clouds drift below the summit, creating a sea of white. Perched on the highest branch of a solitary cedar tree sits the Tengu.
He is a Daitengu, a Great Tengu. He has the body of a man but the wings of a bird of prey. His skin is red, crimson as the setting sun. His nose is excessively long, a phallic symbol of his pride and power. He wears the robes of a yamabushi (mountain aesthetic) and small hexagonal hat.
He holds a fan made of feathers. This is no ordinary fan. It is a hauchiwa, capable of summoning tornados.
He surveys his domain. The mountains are sacred. They are the dwelling places of the gods, and he is the guardian. He protects the forests from loggers and the temples from the impious.
The Practice
Dawn is the time for training. The Tengu are the masters of martial arts, the teachers of the greatest samurai (including Minamoto no Yoshitsune).
He drops from the tree. He does not fall. He glides, landing on a rock pinnacle with silent grace.
He draws his sword, a katana of ancient make. He moves through the forms. His speed is impossible to follow. The blade is a blur of steel reflecting the morning light. He cuts the air, and the wind responds, slicing the leaves off a nearby bush in a perfect line.
He practices unarmed combat. He strikes the rock with his bare hands. Crack. A fissure appears in the granite. It is not brute force. It is Ki, focused spiritual energy.
The Intruder
A group of monks is climbing the pilgrim trail. They are chanting, their bells ringing softly. The Tengu nods. These are respectful men. He allows them to pass, sending a gentle breeze to cool their sweat.
But behind them comes another. A samurai. He is loud, arrogant. He kicks a stone statue of Jizo. He curses the steepness of the path.
The Tengu frowns. Arrogance is a mirror. The Tengu are proud, yes, but they despise unearned pride in humans.
It is time for a lesson.
The Test
The Tengu flies down. He lands on the path, blocking the samurai’s way. He assumes a human guise—an old monk leaning on a staff.
"Step aside, old fool," the samurai barks.
"The path is wide enough for two," the Tengu says. "Humility makes one small enough to pass anywhere."
The samurai draws his sword. "I will cut you down."
He strikes. The sword passes through the old man like smoke.
There is a puff of wind, and the disguise vanishes. The Tengu stands revealed in his true form, red face glowing, wings spread wide. He laughs, a sound like cawing crows.
"You fight with anger, not skill," the Tengu mocks.
The samurai is terrified, but his pride holds him fast. He swings again.
The Tengu flicks his feather fan. A gust of wind hits the samurai like a hammer. He is lifted off his feet and tossed into a thicket of stinging nettles. His sword flies from his hand, embedding itself in a tree trunk, high out of reach.
The Verdict
The samurai groans, entangled in the thorns. His fine kimono is torn. His dignity is shattered.
The Tengu hovers above him.
"The mountain does not care for your title," the spirit says. "Come back when your ego is lighter than a feather. Until then, you walk down."
With a flap of his wings, the Tengu ascends, vanishing into the clouds.
The Meditation
Back on his peak, the Tengu sits in the lotus position. He closes his eyes. He listens to the wind. He meditates on the nature of power.
He is a monster to some, a god to others. He is the spirit of the high places, wild and free. He watches the sun set, his red face matching the horizon, waiting for the next challenge to climb his mountain.
