This is a story of renewal and redemption. Of how I was finally made whole and worthy again. But of course, every story of renewal must be preceded by one of being broken, shattered and useless. So I will tell you that story first.
It begins with my Master. Everything begins with him. He is a Master warrior and over the years it has been his hand that has guided me. I desire nothing more than to bring him honor, to protect him and all he holds dear. I have always been clear in this, unwavering in my sole purpose and yet when I was needed most...I failed. I failed him and it is because of my weakness that Michelangelo was seriously injured.
It had been a relatively quiet patrol. With the moon high and bright in the sky much of the opportunist crime was deterred. So it was quiet on that roof as we stopped for a short respite. The unnatural stillness should have been the first indicator that something was amiss. Before any of us knew what was happening black-clad Foot soldiers appeared out of every shadow and crevice. An ambush.
Immediately I was slashing and slicing. Cutting through flesh just to slow them down. But they continued to leap onto the building like a swarm of death. As one was dispatched it seemed three more took his place. Usually killing and even maiming is a last resort. But that night I thrust through more than one gut and was covered in the enemy's blood.
There were just too many, retreat was the only way. However before an escape could be attempted, I found myself locked in a power struggle. The enemy had slipped in close, to my complete shame, and was pressing down on me. It was simply a matter of brute strength, not the finesse or balance I am used to. Despite being strong I shook under the effort. This was an experienced ninja, one of their better fighters. He knew just where to apply pressure, and at just what angles I'd be defenseless. I could feel myself slipping, breaking under his constant assault and as I finally gave out and dropped to the concrete, my only thought was how I had failed my Master.
Amid the fighting, Michelangelo had stayed close, his nunchaku striking out with unerring accuracy. In an instant he was there, attacking the ninja in question. Protecting, doing what I had not been able, but it was not without cost. A deep gash bled angrily from just below his rib cage to just above his knee before the ninja was eventually slain. And all the while, I just lay there, useless.
Soon Donatello and Raphael were there too and through some miracle an escape route opened up. Don helped Mike and I expected, no wanted to be left behind. Raphael had other ideas though and tucked me under his arm as we made a quick retreat.
Gentle. I remember how gently Raphael laid me down in Don's lab. And that is where I stayed for over a month. I had been broken, in more places than one. I wasn't worthy of ever being in another battle, nor did I want to be. Even as Michelangelo eventually healed, the scar on his side was a awful reminder of my own weakness.
At first my Master did not visit, unwilling to touch or even look at me. And when he did finally come, it was late at night when the others had all gone to bed. He sat next to me. Glared at me for several minutes, I didn't move. He was angry, looking at me in an attempt to know what had gone wrong. And then unexpectedly he laid his hand across me, dropped his head and silently wept. I felt fear and grief in the way he touched me, it was unfamiliar and gut-wrenching. I understood then. My shame was his shame. He had taken on my failure as his own. We were one in our dishonor. Had I been able to speak, I would have insisted that this was not his fault, that it was I who should have been stronger, better. But I could not speak and so after a while he turned and left, seemingly disgusted with himself and me.
Still days passed. Master's late night visits becoming more frequent but still he always left unsettled and unable to help me. It was Don who eventually saved me after a conversation I overheard.
"What's the deal with Fearless?" Raph growled, " Its been weeks since that fight with the Foot, why can't he just let it go already?"
"You know as well as I do he's still blaming himself for Mikey getting hurt," Don responded.
"Yeah, well, Mikey's fine now and as annoying as ever. We get hurt but we always come out of it. This time wasn't any different."
"I'm not so sure about that. If I had to guess, I'd say underneath all that guilt he's...well..scared. I think Leo's scared. Scared to pick up his weapon, scared to fight."
"What?! Splinter Jr. is a lot of things Don, but he ain't never been scared," Raph disputed as if it was an affront to his own dignity.
"Of sacrificing himself, no. But of losing one of us, of letting Master Splinter down, yes. This last fight was just too close."
"Well what are we gonna do? He cain't go on like this."
"I think I may have an idea. Leo might just need a little push, a little reassurance that with time everything can be renewed and that its time to move forward."
He was correct of course. Though I knew the process would not be easy. Later that week, Don stood over me determination in his voice as he said, "Whether you think you're ready or not Leo, I'm fixing this right now." He then picked me up as gently as Raphael had laid me down. I won't lie, I was a bit embarrassed to be cradled like an infant in his arms, but I was so shattered there was nothing I could do about it. And perhaps it was fitting. I was going back to the beginning, I would be remade and reborn. Don carried me up to the garage and despite the crisp chill that usually fills the space instead waves of warmth radiated through the the air. The fire was already going, blazing orange and flicking wildly in its pit. Don is quite traditional in his craft so I knew we would be doing this the hard way.
As he brought me close to the coals I prepared myself as best I could for the trial of fire that lay ahead. Without ceremony he thrust me into the flames. I was immediately engulfed. As I lay there taking on the luminous orange hue of the fire, I could feel myself changing, softening. The guilt, shame and dishonor finally melting away and with that I was able to begin letting go of my previous existence. Then plucked hot from the coals Don placed me on on metal slab and began beating me. Pounding me over and over. Then back to fire, then back the beating, so many times I lost count. Sweat dripped from Don's brow but he was steadfast and unrelenting. And under his strong hands, I was becoming integrated again, no longer shattered and useless but whole and able to withstand each blow.
Folding was next. Folded over, beaten and then back to the fire. The process repeated several times until every possible impurity had been exercised from my form. When that was finished I thought perhaps Donatello would rest and I would be given a reprieve but he went on. Even as tiny strings of light from the dawning sun filtered through cracks in the garage's exterior. He went on.
As I said at the start this is a story of renewal and by the time Don was finished I was indeed new, stronger and better than I had ever been. It had been weeks but finally I was once again sharpened to a dangerous edge and worthy of my Master.
It was later that day I found myself carefully placed in the finely carved wooden stand inside my Master's room. Alone, I waited and waited. Much later when he did arrive, my presence was noticed within seconds. The surprise on his normally ambiguous features somewhat comical. However the expression that settled there afterward could only be described as cautious. His steps toward me were slow but intentional. First he lit the candle that always stood ready on his small chest and then carefully he sat seiza before me.
Regarding my form from tip to hilt a whispered, "Beautiful," escaped his lips. Still he did not touch me but instead closed his eyes and began to breath deeply. It was not the first we had practiced this ritual. I knew my Master had slipped into a deep mediation and that it may be quite sometime before he emerged from it. I know him as I know myself and so I made no sound and moved not an inch. I knew he needed time to wrestle with the doubt, shame and fear as I had done. So that we might become one again. So that I might be an extension of his will again.
In time, my Master did open his eyes and I could tell his spirit had found renewal in the astral plane. Looking at me again, he slowly curled his fingers around me and lifted me from the stand. The feel of his touch so familiar and right was searing and I glinted in the light of the almost burned out candle. The fire and hammer had been worth it to know this again.
Later in the dojo it was glorious as I was turned and circled through the air. The pent up vigor of my Master and I intertwining and erupting forth. It was a kind of dance, a matter of finding our balance again. It would take time to regain all that had been lost but I knew then that it would happen. That we had both been made stronger.
The realization so satisfying, I almost didn't notice my own savior at the dojo entrance watching us practice. But Master eventually came to a stillness and regarded him with a warm smile.
"Don, its...its so beautiful. But how did you know this is what I needed."
"Oh, you know Splinter says a ninja's weapon is an extension of himself. I wasn't sure but I thought fixing your sword might help somehow. And of course I'd do anything for you."
Laying hand on his brother's shoulder my Master replied, "You're a good brother, Don. It was exactly the push I needed to realize it was time to move forward, thank you."
"No problem, besides it was a great chance to tryout some of my blacksmithing theories. You know, I'm pretty sure I was able to strengthen the blade by nearly 30% without sacrificing…"
As Donatello continued to explain the science of katana smithing, my Master slipped me neatly into the scabbard on his shell. I had been broken, untouchable, forged in fire, made whole and now I was home.
End
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