RIGHT VIEW

The sharp, rocky volcano face where the Oyakoba temple was cast into the stone seemed so quiet as to feel like another planet, yet was always roaring with the bitter eastern wind and the cymbals of water crashing upon the shore. Above the jade ring of grassland that circled the mountain, one could only see frigid gray rock, capped toward the summit with an ashy snow. The monks, both humans and mutants of various size and color, were united by their shaved heads, deerskin robes, black veils wrapped around their mouths, and scarcity of speech. On the day of my landing, the jujishuko couldn't have uttered more than fifty words to me; the ancient-looking man didn't ask my name, where I came from, what kind of creature I was, or practically anything other than if I knew where I had landed before handing me the proper attire and showing me to a free bed.

Everything about the place seemed barren. No inch of the temple itself was decorated or even painted, and the only ornament was the monolith of a minimalist Buddharupa in the middle courtyard. The whole complex formed a perfect wood-roofed square around that statue, just as everyone on the island's lives revolved around the building in perfect routine. At sunrise, we descended from the temple to the icy waters of the shore, meditating between the rocks as the waves barraged our backs. After three hours, we trekked to the hot springs to practice their dramatic style of internal martial art in unison around the steaming water. The technique was unlike anything I'd ever seen; bold circle-based ornaments and furies of straight-line footwork punctuated with the slow, balancing movement of tai chi or yoga. It was intentionally designed with no offensive purpose, maybe based on manipulating the flow of inner chi or moving parallel to the planet's natural energy. The veterans of the island moved with uncanny swiftness, looking more than physical as they danced through the motions with fierce stance. Following five hours of that, we collected water from the stream at the base of the mountain and ascended back to the temple for the day's one meal and studying scripture until sunset.

It was a lifestyle unlike anything I'd imagined to still exist in the world. Whole days would go by without exchanging any words beyond a "thank you" for the morning tea and daily rice and vegetables. Some monks said even less. Every sunset coincided with physical exhaustion, and every sunrise with a sober understanding of what would happen between then and the next. Unsure of my movements at first, the teachers didn't chide when I studied their actions before attempting something so new. For being the place I'd come to learn some more discipline, there wasn't any real punishment, or any communication at all for that matter. Every action seemed to flow neutrally, with no negativity and only an internal devotion to a positive cause. No one knew each other's name, nor their past, only that they all shared the same life and walked the same path. Steeping in this blur of unity and isolation left me feeling practically nothing at all.

One would think a life like that would work to distract me from what sent me there, but such starving of the senses only left me thinking about home more than I already had been. There I was, halfway around the earth from them, where the distance and my commitment to the lifestyle stopped me from acting on the thoughts that continued to muddle my brain. That was supposed to make the thoughts go away, wasn't it? They say you'll always want most what you can't have, but couldn't the mind accept that its wants were futile? How long would it take? Two weeks hadn't set me to wake with the four AM sunrise, it hadn't made my growling stomach accommodate the meager rations, and hadn't made me half as skilled as any of the others in their strange dance-sparring. All I'd accomplished in that time was feeling permanently tired and bland, like my color was washing out into the freezing ocean below.

Those two weeks came and went within the same monotonous cycle, until one day, our ascent from the springs led us past the temple and wrapping around the snowcapped mountainside toward the peak. That day was the summer solstice, and we rounded the final twist in the frosted path to enter the volcano's caldera just as high noon struck. Before then, all I had seen from the jagged crown of the mountain was the occasional column of smoke drifting lazily into the clouds. Now, I took in its source: a swirling lake of liquid pewter, split with crackles of glowing scarlet and orange. Within the crater, the air was alive with steam and the hiss of its escape. The lava pool stretched three hundred feet across, and a few yards overhead, a lone coarse rope was tied tautly to large crags in the rocks on each end.

We assumed our sitting lotus position along the shore, my nose unconsciously wrinkling from the smell of sulfur. With no explanation, one of the monks grappled up the boulder on one end of the lake and, with seemingly no preparation, began a kata leading his feet over one another like a snake travelling in a straight line. His arms scooped and hooked like a stormy coastline, somehow keeping him in balance as he scurried across to safety on the other side. He joined us in the lotus position, and the next in line made his way up the rock.

I already knew they expected me to be tuning out my fear, sitting there in the line, but the suspense only made me worry more. Not one monk showed any imperfection or trip as they crossed the line, showing levels of concentration even beyond the masters I'd already met. Even across a lake of fire, they moved with the same impossible speed and grace. How long had the others been here for, training like this? Without knowing, I wasn't sure whether to be amazed at their pace of learning or disappointed at my own. Was two weeks' time really enough training for this stunt? Would they tell me if they didn't expect me to be ready? Were there any secret tips to not falling I hadn't learned yet? How am I supposed to know what it is that I don't know?

These thoughts ricocheted inside my skull as half the order took their turns on the rope before me. Finally, by the time I was the first in line, my palms were dripping sweat and I couldn't quell the tremor of my nervousness. When the rope was cleared, I gripped the bottom of the boulder and tried to gulp the knot forming in my throat, to no avail. At the top, I closed my eyes and did what I could to make my mind as silent as the monks' below, their stares all directed at me. Barely breathing, I gingerly slid my first foot onto the rope, closing my eyes and trying my damnedest not to look down. I could feel its worn fibers groan as it stretched to accommodate my weight, and slid my second foot on. I tried to remember the exercises we did in the hot springs, but every time I lifted my foot to cross it over, I could feel myself tipping into the lava below. Each time it happened, I seemed to jostle even harder. The beating of my heart drummed on the roof of my mouth, really the only thing I could hear.

As the rope started to dance underneath my feet, I yelped and shot my arms out straight to my side, trying to regain some type of balance. The rush of blood seemed to roar through my ears, and the whole world seemed to shudder in tune with my own vibration. The line under me became meaningless, insensible, and the heat of the air around me felt as caustic as lava. My eyes shot open. Overhead, a golden sphere engraved with 'JF' seemed to be descending fast right on top of me. Hardly able to react, I felt myself preparing for the fall, then realized the logo was painted on the bottom of a helicopter, white metal and purring blades slowing to hover just over me. Seeing nowhere else to go as the copter whipped air around to gyrate the line between my toes, I grabbed onto the landing skid and felt the earth turn below me. Now safely above solid land, my grip loosened and I dropped like a ragdoll to the ground, finding my feet in time to land with some feeble attempt at grace. Across the lava, the monks stayed rigid in their seats, some still locking their unwavering glares on me, and others craning their necks up to the helicopter. It dawned on me how ragged my breathing was, and I fell to my knees as the hyperventilating started to cast dark tunnel edges around my sight.

I could taste the ashy cloud on my tongue as the copter whipped a smoke screen around it, dropping its skids to the earth behind me with a thud. Barely able to stay in my own skin, I was too focused on regaining control of my breath to look back at my unexpected saviors as they exited their craft.

"This is some Bond villain shit right here, bro." One gruff voice scoffed in a Brooklyn drawl. "Secret island lair with a fucking volcano and everything. What is this, some kind of cult?" I winced inside, imagining the other monks' hearing Raph's grating mouth.

"Looks more like a super-villain's sinister army, if you ask me, dude." The younger voice came scampering up behind me, and I visibly flinched as I expected a rambunctious pounce so typical from Michelangelo. Instead, when I opened my eyes warily, those cool blue irises were boring concernedly into mine. "What did they do to you, Leo?" He murmured, his breath registering on my face from only inches away.

"Give him some space, Mike." Don directed, and again I stared down at the dusty gray earth. I felt fingers brush the edge of my cheek, the first physical touch I'd felt in longer than weeks, and reflexively I slapped it aside. The purple-banded gaze lowered to meet mine as he hunched down. "Leo…it's us."

"Yeah." I panted. Don's brow knotted.

"Do you…wanna come with us?"

"No." I gulped, looking back down to the ground. "Yes…Not now."

"Or, answer D: all of the above." He chuckled, trying futilely to lighten the mood. "You really want to do this?"

"No. But I have to."

"Bro, you don't have to do anything." Raph interrupted.

"He's right, Leo. You don't." Don continued. "You don't even have to come with us. You and I don't have to be anything more than brothers if you do. I know you have a lot of responsibility and honor that your head says you have to listen to. You and I, we get each other, you know? You've told me what it's like to live in your shell, and I know that our ideas can make us do things our hearts and our guts tell us not to, and vice versa. But when all three are telling you something's wrong, or something's right, well, that's when you know what to do. That's what made me come all this way. And right now, it doesn't look like any part of you is supposed to be here."

"Need to suffer to get stronger, right?" I huffed.

"Stronger? Do they even feed you, bro?" Mikey cut in. "I can practically see your ribs through your shell. Kinda thought wherever you ran away to would be more like a summer camp than a labor camp. Besides, my big bro's the strongest dude in the world, even when Raph begs to differ."

"I'm not good enough for you." I choked. "Any of you. Not yet."

"A lot of good you'll be doing us, turning into turtle soup up here just to prove a point." Raph spat, glaring across the sizzling pit. "There's nothing you gotta prove to these weirdoes. Or to us. And if you ask me, Splinter wouldn't have let the universe take him unless there was nothing left for us to prove to him, either."

"He's right, Leo." Don finally stood up. "There's nothing you should be running from. I know you aren't perfect, and I love you even more for it. All the good things in the universe come from its imperfections. How else would you explain a mutant ninja turtle?"

"Maybe you're not used to taking orders from the rest of us, but dude, you're the only big brother we've all got." Mikey sniffed, maybe from the noxious air. "So I'm ordering you to quit playing Criss Angel and come home."

Releasing my head from its bow, I peered up to see Donatello offering me his hand. His lifeline. I don't remember letting go, even looking back out the helicopter window as Oyakoba's glistening peak seemed to be consumed by the sea.


*cue dramatic credits music*

Hope you liked it! Don't cry too much; this story arc may be done (minus epilogues) but the tale's far from over!