Keeper of the Arts: The Story Begins...

© Copyright 2005 Jackie Grant Miller

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Contents

Keeper of the Arts

About the Book

Chapter 1

THE CHOSEN ONE

Chapter 2

THE DOJANG

Chapter 3

EVIL TAKES A BREATH

Chapter 4

THE MEETING

Chapter 5

THE WORLD OF O-SENSEI

Chapter 6

THE FEMALE FIGHTER

Chapter 7

WAY OF THE ROYAL FAMILY

Chapter 8

IT CAME FROM SLAVES

Chapter 9

TO DIE A FREE MAN

Chapter 10

THE VILLAGE OF PALM TREES

Chapter 11

THE FORTY-FIVE DAY SIEGE

Chapter 12

A CENTURY OF FREEDOM

Chapter 13

DOWN FROM THE ALPS

Chapter 14

A KING JOINS THE FIGHT

Chapter 15

THE GREATEST BATTLE

Chapter 16

THE SACRED TEMPLE

Chapter 17

PHOENIX CLAW FIST

Chapter 18

A PEACEFUL HEART

Chapter 19

THE TRAP

Chapter 20

HISTORY TO THE RESCUE

Chapter 21

EAST VERSUS WEST

Chapter 22

NOW OR NEVER

Chapter 23

A WARRIOR’S DANCE

Author’s Bio

Acknowledgements

Keeper of the Arts

Severe abuse marked D.J. Grant’s childhood while he lived with his mother, until he was suddenly sent away to live with an unknown father. His life changed again when he and his father saw a martial arts movie, which influenced him to learn self-defense. Now in his early twenties and a student of Tae Kwon Do, D.J. is excited about a promotion from second degree to third degree black belt status.

D.J. had specialized in one style of self-defense. Now he faces disappointment when, instead of promotion, his instructor tells him to first experience the history of the martial arts world. During a walk home, a brief discussion ensues with two friends. D.J. is inexplicably separated from them and introduced to Nerrot, Master of all Keepers of the Art. This meeting takes place in SymDo, a subconscious, mystical realm existing within the minds of martial arts students and practitioners. For every martial artist, there is a Keeper of the Art who is responsible for maintaining the martial artist’s memories.

Nerrot, the Master of all Keepers of the Arts, has chosen D.J. to replace him as the next master. Before D.J. can succeed Nerrot, he is pitted against Tarag, a former protégé who was exiled from the Five Sacred Temples of SymDo for stealing a pendant that can be used to control the mystical powers.

D.J. is taken to five countries to experience and learn their martial arts histories. Tarag’s interference forces D.J. and Nerrot to physically experience historic events that put their lives at risk. D.J. must complete the experiences, helping Nerrot to save SymDo, while outwitting Tarag.

About the Book

This book is designed as a brief introduction to Martial Arts while entertaining the reader. Fighters, soldiers, and martial artists will find this story reflective of the martial arts world. The concept is aligned with the tradition set forth by Baker’s Martial Arts Theatrical Troupe.

Factual, historical accounts of battles, people, and places from past to present have been included in this book. Certain events and people have been altered to conform to the story’s continuity. In no way is this book intended to disrespect any martial arts style, person, or way of life.

Keeper of the Arts was originally written in 1 982 as a stage play titled Dream Maker. When the play was written, the countries represented the different styles in which I have trained: Japanese Wado-Kai Karate; Chinese Kenpo Kung Fu; Korean Tae Kwon Do; and African-Brazilian Capoeira.

A special dedication goes to:

MASTER INSTRUCTOR JULIUS BAKER JR.

And

BAKER’S MARTIAL ARTS THEATRICAL TROUPE

The story begins…

Chapter 1

THE CHOSEN ONE

On a hot, clear July afternoon, the Bay Area city of Oakland was suddenly shadowed. All television stations interrupted their programming with special reports from their meteorologists. The same, instantaneous glitch was appearing on their weather radar screens. Reports poured in from motorists traveling westbound on the Bay Bridge of a formation of large, dark clouds over the Pacific Ocean. The cloud mass was rapidly moving inland. With only two hours of daylight left, the sun’s rays surrendered to the clouds. The streetlights lit up and exposed a misty shower that warned pedestrians of heavy raindrops about to fall.

A cosmic energy was contained within these clouds, disguised as Earth’s natural cleansing system. A locked gateway separating Earth’s reality from a mystical world swirled within the blanketing clouds. Unknown to people below, a hundred-year event was taking place: a gate would partially unlock by way of a mystical question acting as a key, becoming an open portal. The question had to be made by an unsuspecting martial arts practitioner in need of further knowledge.

Lightning bolts exploded out of the sky. The visible white flashes momentarily immobilized people’s thought patterns. Thunderous sound effects, caused by the electrically charged mystical force, filled the air. Eardrums suffered from echoing blasts as an oppressing force of wind and heavy rain entered the city in a blinding rage. Numerous umbrellas popped open in defense against the sudden downpour. The unexpected clash of wet versus dry caused screams from innocent bystanders caught in the unusual weather change

Injured motorists were trapped in damaged vehicles caused by slick roads as sirens heralded the arrival of medical response teams throughout the city.

A cab driver’s heart skipped a beat as his car tires screeched and he came to a stop just before entering a quiet intersection. The motorist that had ignored a flashing red light now heard the cabby’s deep Italian voice yelling at him through the cab’s open window. Hey! Are you crazy, man? I have the right of way here! Slow down and watch where you’re going. You nearly crashed into me, fool!

Still gasping for air and a steady pulse, the cabby used his hand to swipe raindrops from his face and blow the car horn to wave a pedestrian through the crosswalk. A pair of black running shoes blurred by in a burst of speed. They sounded like weak firecrackers as they splashed across the wet street.

The shoes belonged to the muscular, lean, and light-skinned frame of a Black Indian. D.J. Grant waved and yelled at the cab driver, Good lookin’ out, cabby! Sorry, but I’m in a hurry myself! His limber legs picked up speed as he dashed to his Tae Kwon Do practice.

D.J.’s black jacket and backpack weathered the wet conditions, but his all-weather black pants clung to his legs as he ran down the next street. He ignored his discomfort in his single-minded focus upon reaching the studio. It was typical of D.J.’s tunnel-vision outlook on life, which was consciously created from years of self-development methods. That had been his ticket out of the abusive past his mother had inflicted on him.

Man! It’s rainin’ hard! It wasn’t supposed to rain tonight… D.J. stopped under a tree to unzip the back of his jacket collar and pull out a thin hood to cover his head. I gotta get to class before it starts. I need Mr. Miller to have some good news for me. He tied the string under his chin. Let me get started on stretchin’ out my leg muscles with a quick jog.

He usually rode a bike to class, but on this stormy day, his leg muscles were surging with power that convinced him to run. As he jogged down the sidewalks of waterlogged neighborhoods, he noticed brown leaves pasted on parked cars, curbside grass, and lawns, while more leaves spun by with the wind. His thoughts followed the leaves and memories from his childhood swirled with the leaves.

As a child, D.J. played war games pitting good against evil, defending the helpless, to escape the painful beatings his mother inflicted upon him. Hairbrush blows landing on his knuckles, forcible eating bars of soap, and being pinned down on a couch after baths while tree switches rained blows on his body were the worst memories to torment his mind.

Born a Blackfoot Indian, his mother lived in a physically abusive and racist society. She tried unsuccessfully to pass as a white woman. The resulting frustrations were taken out on her young child. Two days before he turned seven, she put her son on a Greyhound bus bound for Oakland. The morning of D.J.’s birthday, a letter reached his African-American father informing him of the arrival of a son he never knew he had. When the bus pulled in later that evening, the father was there, waiting for his son.

D.J.’s green eyes, light skin, and curly black hair marked him as different from the other children of African-American parents. The social outlook imposed upon light-skinned Americans led to five confusion-filled years of continuous chases and fights, and of fear of walking the streets.

When D.J. was twelve, a martial arts movie, Five Fingers of Death, was advertised on television. He begged his father to take him to the movie, which dealt with Chinese students learning a style of Kung Fu that specialized in jumping fifteen feet up into long, leaping air attacks. One student learned how to overcome personal obstacles, and discovered the ability to channel internal energy into his hands, which caused a glowing red effect. When he struck something or someone with a glowing hand, he left a five-finger handprint along with severe bodily pain and injuries.

The movie was a pivotal turning point in D.J.’s life. He convinced his father to let him learn martial arts, and on his thirteenth birthday, he found a school and started his self-defense training.

The leaves continued to fly in the wind around D.J. and his memories continued with them. His rough childhood led to his motto for survival: trust no one and avoid anything new. This motto kept him from being rejected or disappointed. Joining the school led him to set aside his motto; connecting with other students caused his inner, protective wall to come down, eventually allowing friendships to form.

Numerous conversations made D.J. realize that nearly half the students came from abusive backgrounds. Within the school, this student found an extended family environment. It allowed room for growth and appreciation.

With consistent training, D.J. became highly skilled and confident in defensive Korean fighting techniques. However, fighting for no reason sickened his heart. Even though martial arts provided self-development, his heart was still closed off from the world at large. The mental scars he carried were disguised with a very creative mind that belonged in theatre.

Clogged storm drains flooded a wide intersection, causing D.J. to stop at the corner and plot a course across the knee-deep water. Thunder continued to race across the sky, followed by shock waves that caused ripples in the water.

A bright flash lit up the darkened street and a middle-aged, heavy-set woman emerged from the shadows to his right. She fought off sudden gusts of wind and rain, armed with her pink umbrella. Her purse waved valiantly in the wind, symbolizing the plight and durability of handbags. She looked up around the weaving umbrella and acknowledged D.J.’s presence.

Child, you ain’t got an umbrella or hat to cover dat head of yours? You gonna mess around and catch a death of a cold— she scolded as she reached the corner. A swift gust of wind hit her umbrella with a one-two punch, pushing the umbrella’s shield outward and forcing the thin metal stem to snap. —Now look what you’ve done! Child, you ain’t no good…got me in this rain just like you! What kind of world is this? Boy, you betta find me another umbrella!

D.J. gave a half-smile to the woman as he stepped backwards into the mini-river. A quick turn ignited a high-stepping jog that exploded water in several directions. After he reached the opposite corner, the urge to kick raced through his legs into his body and re-ignited his intense love for the Korean kicking style he practiced. His talent for creating action adventure and fantasy scenarios sprang to the fore and he quickly created a scenario with targets to kick at.

Let’s see…oh, I know! Rain men have invaded the ground people’s land and my job is to fight through the water troopers that are landin’ to flood the city streets! My objective is to find the Sacred Handle and release the Gate Keeper to save their city. The rain muffled his laughter as he started slicing through the air with crisp, shoulder-high kicks that quickly slapped at the rain. He jumped into the air to execute similar leg kicks and spun water off his clothes, while new raindrops took their place. To the untrained eye, D.J.’s kicking methods were incomprehensible, but to others, they were creative ways of warming up the leg muscles.

Suddenly, D.J. stopped and cautiously moved into a defensive stance. Why does it feel like someone is watchin’ me…? He scanned the area before looking up at the sky. Better yet, let me stop talkin’ to myself out loud before someone hears me and thinks I’m crazy! His words competed with his lungs for air in gasping breaths.

D.J.’s vision became clear as an eagle; his focus took in things that had extra-sharp third dimensional edges. As he jogged along, his sixth sense warned of a drama about to unfold. His rational mind singled out the excitement connected with the upcoming Black Belt promotions as a probable cause.

Red belt students train four years to receive their first-degree black belt, and the ceremony is a major milestone. The last three weeks had been highly energized for the white and red belts. Their promotion was last week, with eight red belts promoted to black belts. D.J. had prepared for this as intensively as a boxer would train for a championship fight. He knew the extra training would be needed for endurance; his teacher’s past promotions had started with exhaustive exercises to test students’ mentality, technique, and presence.

In Korean, Tae means Feet, Kwon means Hand, and Do means Way. Tae Kwon Do is one of the most respected fighting styles in the world. The Korean art of kicking is renowned for its power, grace, and finesse. The key to delivering the kick is using the hip while cutting through the air like a sword swinging at, or piercing, a target. The kicking style is considered very technical; it has been proven mathematically to triple a person’s leg power when defending or attacking.

D.J. learned from his instructor that peasant farmers created the style because of political unrest in the country and constant attacks by invading soldiers. The jump kicks were designed to attack soldiers on horseback. The ancient and traditional name for this style was SahDoh MuSool. It evolved into other styles, and combined with existing styles, formed a unique and historical Korean way of life known as Hwa Rang Do. A mile separated D.J.’s Oakland apartment from Miller’s Tae Kwon Do Dojang in Berkeley. The word Dojang means school.

The rain became a torrential downpour as D.J. jogged along. Mid-stride, he shouted, Oh, man, do I feel good tonight! I hope these guys are ready for me ‘cuz I’m a hungry tiger on the prowl for fresh meat! I’m a wet tiger but a hungry one nevertheless! He sprinted through the next four blocks as if he were a tiger tracking its prey, moving in to claim its prize. He slowed to a jogging pace and began daydreaming about a Black Panther, a Praying Mantis, and a Monkey confronting a White Tiger and a Dragon.

The Black Panther aggressively approached the White Tiger, setting into motion a fierce battle filled with lightning-quick reactions, slashing claws, sharp fangs, and snarling roars powered by muscular bodies on the ground and in leaping air attacks. It started out as a fight between equals but it became apparent that the Black Panther was no match for the White Tiger’s strength and speed.

The Dragon’s exhaled fire scared the Monkey into rants and yells as it jumped around in circles and fled. The Praying Mantis froze in a defensive stance, slowly raising its claws into an aggressive position against the Dragon, and fleeing after the Dragon’s second fiery exhalation.

D.J. analyzed the daydream. It represented speed, confidence, agility, and power in dominating objectives, the very elements he needed for his anticipated promotion. The analysis excited D.J. and his energy surged through his quick, high-powered kicks, slamming into the raindrops. His reputation for telling outrageous stories made people think that either a very creative imagination was at work or a judge should determine him to be mentally incompetent.

Shortly thereafter, D.J. turned right and started running on San Pablo Avenue, a busy main street that started in Oakland and stretched over thirty miles, culminating in Richmond. Just before D.J. arrived at the school, the rain ceased, which allowed D.J. a moment to catch his breath and brush water off his clothes before he entered. The intersection’s four-way lights provided a momentary delay for motorists, affording them a panoramic view of the studio’s eye-catching artwork designed to attract new students. Pedestrians periodically stopped to watch the energetic activities of white-uniformed and belted men and women through the main window. Comments from the captivated audience mirrored football fans’ outlook on outstanding plays by skilled players, and cringing reactions from their bone-crushing hits.

Blending in with the crowd, D.J. stood behind the people, looking in the window. He turned his head and noticed a woman and her eight-year-old son walking up the street. The mother was tickling her son and laughing at his reactions. A smile grew on D.J.’s face as the young boy’s joyous face softened his heart. Before his next breath, D.J. created a daydream, switching positions with the boy. There were almost no playful moments with his Indian mother that D.J. could recall. He often thought of