#i love the narrative weight of threes

I’m sorry about the long absence - my chronic health issues flared up badly, and other things piled on top of that. Chronic pain is a real creativity-killer, and not being able to sit at a computer for more than 20 minutes doesn’t help either.

This story is a result of going to see Shang Chi, which is a fantastic movie and a beautiful paean to momentum - physical, emotional, literary and narrative. Poetry in motion is a phrase often used, but never more richly deserved. It also reminded me of a very old trope that I haven’t addressed - the Secret Sanctuary, where  the Ancient Way is taught or the Ancient Artifact is guarded or the Doorway To The Dead Realms lies or whatever.  It’s always hidden, usually in the mountains. (Hogwarts qualifies as a subversion of this trope)

So… what if the person who showed up was looking for something else entirely, or was, at least, open to reason?

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There were once three great warriors, and no one who stood against them ever defeated them. They rose to lead a great army, and at last that army reached the sea, and there was nothing left for them to conquer.

The first looked back at the land they had conquered, and said “This is enough. I desire no more.”

The second looked at the trees that grew near the beach, and said “I will not stop here. I will build a great boat, and find new lands.”

But the third warrior looked at both the sea and the land, and then turned away. “I am weary of fighting,” she said. “I will go another way.” And she walked away, down the beach, and did not heed their calls after her.

She walked, following the water’s edge. The sea led her to an inlet, the inlet to a river, the river to a stream, and at last she found herself in a place she did not know, which she and her comrades had never conquered. It was a peaceful valley, lush and green, and the people who lived there came out to meet her.

“What is this place?” she asked them.

“This is the Valley of Flowers,” they told her. “Few find their way here, for it is a secret place. What were you seeking, that you came here?”

“I sought something new,” she said, looking around her with interest. “I was weary of fighting, and wished to do something else. What do you do here?”

“We farm,” they told her.

So for three years, she joined in the toil of farming, from planting to tending to harvest. She herded beasts, and fed them, and was at peace.

At the end of the three years, she went to the head of the village, who was very old and wise, and said “I am not a farmer. This is not the right work for me. What else do you do here?”

“We make,” the village head told her. “Try making.”

So for seven years she made. She learned to spin, and weave, and sew. She learned to tan leather and make shoes and other things from it. She learned to craft wood, and clay, and metal. She built, and mended, and shaped.

At the end of the seven years, she went to the head of the village again. “I have learned all the crafts of making that are practiced in this valley,” she said. “I am not very good at any of them. They are not what I am looking for. What else do you do in this valley?”

The head of the village sat and looked at her for a long time, and the warrior sat and looked back, without anger or impatience. At last he nodded slowly. “It is not a thing we would ever speak of to an outsider, in the way of things,” he said slowly, “but you have lived among us for ten years in peace, and have never once spoken falsely that we know of. So I will ask you, do you desire wealth?”

She shrugged. “I had wealth. The wealth of a hundred conquered kingdoms. I could not carry it, and did not need it. I left it behind willingly.“

He nodded. “Do you desire power?”

She shrugged again. “I had power. I conquered all of the land that we could find. It was a great deal of trouble. I left it behind willingly.”

He nodded again. “Do you desire knowledge?”

She thought about that for a moment. “The only knowledge I desire is that I came here seeking,” she said slowly. “I want to know what is the right trade for me. My greatest skill is in fighting, but I no longer wish to be a warrior. I have tried farming, and making, and ruling, but they are not the right trades for me. I desire rest, and contentment, in my right place in the world, and that knowledge is all that I desire.”

“In that,” the head of the village said, “I may be able to assist you.”

And the head of the village led the warrior up the valley, to a cave. Inside the cave there was a great door, and bars of wood and of copper and of iron had been set across it. “Behind this door,” the head of the village told the warrior, “there is an artifact of great power, and great destruction. Our ancestors sealed it away, and ever since we have guarded it against any who would seek it. Will you guard it, great warrior, and protect the world from its danger?”

“Yes,” the warrior said, and for the first time in ten years, she drew the great axe that she carried on her back. “I will.”

Many years later, a great king found his way into that hidden valley, searching for an artifact rumoured to grant power and immortality to any who wielded it. He came with soldiers and sorcerers, though he did not attack at first. Instead, he approached the village. “I have come for the treasure,” he said. “That which grants power and immortality.”

“Soldiers and sorcerers cannot aid you in this,” the head of the village told him. “You must go to the guardian alone.”

So the king went alone up into the mountains at the head of the valley, and entered the cave, where the guardian sat with her axe across her knees. And to his surprise, though not to hers, they knew each other.

The warrior who stayed and became a king looked upon the warrior who had walked away. “So this is where you went,” he said slowly. “You guard the artifact now?”

“Yes,” she said calmly. “And you want it?”

“It will give me power and longevity. Power to protect the great land that I rule.”

“It is a force for destruction,” the one who walked away said. “If it is unleashed, it will destroy the kingdom you have ruled.”

“I can control it,” the king said, but there was doubt in his voice. Before him stood one of his oldest friends, one he had never raised his sword against. To turn on her would be a hard thing. And even if he did, there had only ever been two warriors who were his equal, and one stood before him. He did not know if he could defeat her.

“You cannot.” She rose from her seat, and went to him, and laid her hand on his shoulder. “My friend, why do you desire this thing? You have been a great warrior, and a great king. Why seek more?”

He looked at her, at the silver in her hair, and the lines on her face. “Because I have grown old,” he said, “as you have. And soon I will not be able to protect my lands and my people.”

“They are not your lands, or your people. You conquered them, and ruled them by might. Now they must be returned to themselves.”

“But I have protected them. It is true we fought once, but it has been so long since then. I have been a good king. Who will protect them, when I am gone?”

The warrior who turned away smiled at him. “You will,” she said gently. “And I will. And we will protect them by keeping this gate shut, so that no power greater than that of sword and axe may do them harm.”

The king was not persuaded at once, but spoke with his friend long into the night. And when dawn came, he went down to his soldiers and his sorcerers, and told them that he would no longer be their king. He charged them each to return to their own lands, and to keep the peace that his empire had created. And the great king, who had been a great warrior, never again left that valley.

Many, many years later, when the three warriors and their empire had become legend, a lone woman entered the valley. She was robed in silk, and her eyes held the light of strange stars. She did not speak to the villagers, and when they tried to stop her, she sent them into sleep with a word.

She entered the cave, and there she was surprised. The ancient scrolls she had followed spoke of a great door, and a great door there was. They spoke of ancient sigils of warding, and sigils there were. They warned of great bars of wood, of copper, and of iron, and those bars blocked the door.

But no scroll had spoken of two statues flanking the gates, one holding an axe across its knees, the other a sword. She walked towards them, frowning. And when she approached, each statue opened its eyes, and dust fell from them, and they looked at her. And they knew her, and she knew them.

Legends have great power, and not one of the three had been known to die. Two had left, when their fighting was over, and been seen no more, and the third had renounced his throne and departed from the knowledge of men before more than half his hair had turned silver. And so, more than a hundred years later, they stood undying, in a cave, and looked upon one another.

“I thought you had died,” said the one who had sailed across the sea.

“We thought the same,” said the one who walked away.

“And now you stand in my way.”

“Yes.” The one who had been a king laid his hands on his sword-hilt. “What is contained behind this gate should never be released.”

“Why not?” The one who had sailed across the sea frowned. “The three of us once conquered a land from sea to sea.”

“Yes,” said the one who walked away. “And when I saw that all I had won, with all that bloodshed, was another sea the twin of the one I had left, I walked away and fought no more.”

“Yes,” said the one who stayed. “And when the two of you left, I remained, and the empire that we began in blood became a peaceful land, and its people thrived. I, also, came seeking this thing, because I wished to protect my people. Our friend convinced me that it would only destroy what I had built.”

“And if I desire destruction?”

“Then we will prevent you.”

The one who had walked away laid a hand on the shoulder of the one who had crossed the sea. “Once, when we were young and cruel, we conquered a land from sea to sea. My friend, who was once as a sister to me, do not now do worse than what we did then. Let us do no more harm, save in defence of those who live in the lands we conquered.”

The king had been persuaded in one night. This time, they spoke for three days and three nights.

When the next seeker after power came, centuries later, three guardians sat in the cave, sleeping until need called them to wakefulness.

That seeker was not a friend, and could not be reasoned with.

But the three had not grown weaker, and nor had their legends. And the gate was not opened.

That gate was never opened.