Path of Possession

by Harmon Cooper

  Even with their generosity, I couldn’t help but leave with a strange feeling in my gut.

  Before departure, I had let Migmar hold my Flaming Thunderbolt, but I hadn’t let him hold the fan, only place his hand on it. It had been the right move in the end, especially after he swung my Flaming Thunderbolt, nearly cutting down his older attendant.

  I could only imagine what he would have done with the Cooling Fan of Broken Whispers.

  Our journey continued, the day grew hotter, and Roger eventually fell silent.

  It wasn’t a pleasant walk, but it was nicer than our trip through the Great Plateau, the scenery more beautiful and way less barren. Then again, there were also the ravenous mosquitoes, the clouds of gnats, colorful jumping spiders, pockets of cantankerous monkeys, and a variety of birds all of whom Roger felt the urge to comment on, and that was on top of the sweltering afternoon heat.

  I was happy that the jungle floor was mostly covered in shade by the canopy above, but that didn’t stop the humidity, and I was feeling pretty ripe by the time we came to a large waterfall with a rope bridge crossing before it.

  “It’s times like these that I’m glad I can fly,” Roger said as he lifted in the air, gliding to the other side.

  “I don’t like it,” Saruul said. “I don’t like it one bit.”

  “Then morph into a lion and run across,” I suggested.

  She licked her lips, glancing from the waterfall to the river running below in judging the distance, a fine mist sitting over its surface. I noticed something slip into the water, its head peeking up a moment later.

  A crocodile.

  “Okay, maybe that’s the best idea.”

  As she took a step forward she began to morph until she was in her lioness form. She paced for a moment at the foot of the bridge, and then backed up, stretching her hind legs in front of her, and then her back legs.

  “Just do it already,” Roger called over to her.

  The lioness took off, quickly making it across the bridge.

  Ready to be done with it, I made my way to the bridge as well, clamping down on the rope that served as railing. As I took each step on the shaky bridge, an image took shape in my mind’s eye of a bridge not being able to support my weight, of me falling into the water below.

  It never happened.

  I made it, and once I did, Saruul came forward and hugged me.

  “How cute is that?” Roger asked. “Now, let’s get going. I’m so sick of this jungle.”

  “What do you like?” I asked him. “You always seem to be complaining about the locations we find ourselves in.”

  “I prefer the jungle near Nagchu,” he said as we continued onward. “It’s a bit cooler and there are way fewer insects. You see all the insects here?”

  I nodded.

  “And who knows if they are poisonous or not. I guess I’m just more familiar with the jungle near my home. I’ll shut up.”

  It was another couple hours before we reached the roadside rest stop that Migmar’s attendant had told us about.

  It was much larger than I had imagined it would be, more of a resort in the middle of the jungle than a small roadside affair. Large walls surrounded the place, flowing vines draped over them, shrubbery and other assorted blooming plants arranged on the outer rim of the wall. Several men patrolled the front and back, long sticks resting on their shoulders, which I assumed they used to keep animals away.

  Upon entering the courtyard, we found a covered seating area with plenty of tables, a canteen of sorts, the architectural style of the place similar to the sandstone buildings in Anand. A woman with feathered hair wearing a bikini top and loose flowing pants greeted us with a gracious bow.

  “Welcome,” she said, motioning us toward a table.

  We sat, and as we did another man came out holding a tray with a pitcher of water on it. The woman who had greeted us placed wooden cups on the table and the male attendant filled them, quickly exiting after a bow.

  “And you will be staying for the evening?” she asked.

  “That was the plan,” Roger told the woman.

  She glanced between Roger and me.

  “Yes,” I translated.

  “We are expecting some of Emperor Hugo’s men tonight,” she said, her voice lowering. “They may be a little rowdy, if that is okay. We can place you in one of the rooms at the back of the furthest wing, but we can’t guarantee your safety, or the safety of…” She turned to Saruul.

  “It would be very unwise of any of his soldiers to try anything with me,” the lioness said. “Incredibly unwise.”

  The woman gulped. “Perhaps I can have dinner brought to your rooms, and you can keep your lights off and slip out early in the morning. Would you be opposed to that?”

  “I don’t see why we are the ones that have to be quiet if we’re also paying customers,” Roger grumbled. He was now hopping along the table, the feathers on the back of his head standing to attention.

  “That’s fine,” I told her, realizing it would be the most balanced way forward. I would be meeting Hugo soon; I would prefer not having to deal with his men too much beforehand. “We have no problem laying low for the night and eating in our room.”

  “Thank you,” the woman said, offering us another bow, this one longer and even more gracious than the first. “Our chef will be sure to make your meal a memorable one. Please, finish your water, and once you are done, I will lead you to your room.”

  Saruul and I finished our cups of water, Roger griping about how no one had placed a cup out for him. I filled up my cup, allowing him to drink from it.

  “Not bad,” he said as I poured in more water from the pitcher. “There’s definitely a hint of coconut to it, but something else as well.”

  “Cucumber, I believe,” I said.

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  We were led to a room at the far end of the establishment, and by the way it was set up, I had a feeling that it doubled as a servant quarter when not used for guest overflow.

  There was a single window providing a view of the jungle, and a large futon beneath it, about the size of a double bed. The walls were made of clay, and even though it was hot and humid outside, the room was cool. The color of the space was a bit jarring, a seafoam green that kind of made me cringe. Other than that it was quaint, with a low table in the far corner of the room with refreshments already on it.

  “Please, eat, and once they arrive…”

  “We will just stay in here,” I assured her. The female attendant bowed, and just before stepping out she reminded us that food would be coming later.

  “Great, so not only is your friend an asshole, apparently the soldiers that follow him around are anuses as well. I’m telling you, Nick, something about all this seems fishy.” Roger landed on the table and began picking at some of the nuts that had been displayed on a long, rectangular tray. “Really fishy.”

  “We’re being treated as second-class citizens,” Saruul added. “But if you think that is what needs to happen, I will agree to it. But that doesn’t mean I like it.”

  “This is going to come to a head, isn’t it?” I asked as I took a seat in front of the table, also going for some of the snacks.

  “What else did you expect?” Roger asked.

  “I have known Hugo for a long time, since middle school, if that means anything to you.”

  “People change, Nick,” Roger said. “I already told you about my friend who liked the bigger birds. He wasn’t always a horny bastard. He used to be a good student, the top of our class. But then he got a taste of tail feather, if you get my drift. My point is: people change.”

  “I get it, but perhaps there is more to the story. Maybe something else is working through him.”

  “You think he is possessed?” Roger asked.

  “I don’t know, I’m just saying we shouldn’t immediately jump to judgment. Look, as I have already told you before, Hugo is a Marine, or was a Marine. A Marine is a certain type of soldier in my
world, one that is bred extra tough.”

  “Is that according to them, or is that a thing people actually think?”

  “Something people actually think,” I told Roger. “And probably according to them as well. But that’s not what matters. What matters is he went off to fight in a war and he came back a little bit different. If that makes any sense.”

  “It makes sense to me,” Saruul said. “It has been a long time since the snow lions were in an actual war, but I do remember my mother telling me about her grandfather, and how he would wake up at night growling, covered in sweat, afraid that someone had done something to my grandmother. She said he was never the same after that.”

  “From what I have experienced, some people do recover from it, depending on what they did while they were over there. Others do not. I don’t think that means anything aside from different people handle trauma differently, and that some are better at hiding how they are struggling with it than others. Maybe Hugo has taken things too far here, maybe this power he has been given has made him feel indestructible, in control. Then again, it could be something else entirely. And if that is the case…”

  “You are totally going to have to fight him,” Roger said. “You might as well accept that. I’m not a fortune teller, Nick, but I definitely see that your future.”

  “Fight Hugo?” I shook my head. “I was hoping to reason with him and ask him to join us, so we could slowly put our group back together.”

  “Including Evan?”

  “No, fuck that guy,” I told Roger with a grin. “But at least Bobby, Hugo, and me. Maybe we can figure out a little more about what’s going on here, and as crazy as it sounds, try to get to the bottom of why we came here in the first place and how to get back.”

  Saruul looked away from me. “You plan to go back to your world?” she finally asked, trying to hide her disappointment.

  We had been over this before; I still didn’t have a good answer for her.

  I didn’t know if I wanted to go back to my world or not. There were things I missed, things like the Internet, and televised entertainment, and a drive along the Mohawk Trail with the windows down. There was my family, even though we weren’t that close, but there was also the city I lived in, Worcester, Massachusetts, and how I had grown to like the place, even if it was a little rough around the edges.

  “I at least want the option available for my friends,” I finally told her.

  “There’s another friend of yours too,” Roger said. “The one that went into the ocean.”

  “Tom. All of us were at his bachelor party when the portal opened up and took us here,” I said, remembering that I’d been standing and giving a toast when it happened. “But who knows if he’s alive or not, and unless you have an idea, I don’t know how we would go about searching for him.”

  Roger shrugged. “There are other kingdoms, you know. You have been to Lhasa, and now the Island Kingdom of Jonang. There’s still the Kingdom of Rinpunga, Paro and the other Island Kingdom, Tsirang. It’s a big world.”

  “I really would like to see a map of it,” I admitted. “That’s one thing no one has quite shown me yet.”

  “Well, if you give me some parchment, I can more or less draw what it looks like,” Roger told me. “I’m pretty sure Saruul could as well.”

  “I don’t know much about the other kingdoms, just some of the legends,” she admitted. “It isn’t something that is commonly known in my village.”

  “And do you see the problem with that?” Roger asked. “Where’s that piece of paper, the one with the treasure map on it?”

  “There must be another piece of parchment we can use,” I told him, recalling that the treasure map was delicate.

  “Good call. Let’s ask the attendant lady. I’m sure they have something we can write with, and a piece of parchment.”

  “Sure, but let’s make it quick,” I told him as I went to the door. I walked down the hallway, Roger naturally landing on my shoulder as we passed an end table with a flower arrangement on it.

  We came back to the courtyard to find the woman going over details with the other staff members.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

  “We were hoping to get something to write on,” I told her.

  She turned to one of the male attendants and nodded him in the direction of what I assumed was the office, a building off to the side of the courtyard. He hurried over to it, and returned with ink, a quill, and parchment.

  “Please, stay in your rooms,” she said as she gave them to us, and as if on cue, we heard some commotion at the front of the courtyard.

  Soldiers clad in armor that looked like it had been made from bamboo started to file in, the woman ushering us away from the courtyard. We were in the hallway before any of them could get a really good look at us, but from what I could tell, the men were heavily armed, and there were a lot of them.

  “Well, at least we have the parchment now,” Roger said as we rejoined Saruul.

  “Okay, okay,” Roger landed on the table and hopped around, waiting for me to place the parchment down. Once I did, he used his beak to dip the quill in the ink and began tracing some forms. It took him a bit, but in the end, his map wasn’t half bad:

  He spat the quill out. “That’s harder than it looks, and yes, I know it’s not perfect, but that’s not the point here. The bottom right continent is the kingdom of Lhasa, and that dot in the middle is Dornod,” he said, pointing to it with his beak. “That big island to the left of Lhasa is the Island Kingdom of Tsirang. The island to the northwest, the one shaped like a shitty horseshoe, is this island, Jonang. You’ll find the Kingdom of Paro across the Strait of Jargal, and to the west of Paro is the Kingdom of Rinpunga. I guess in showing you all of this I’m trying to say one thing: if your friend Tom is alive, he could be anywhere. Now it makes sense that he may have somehow drifted to the Island Kingdom of Tsirang, considering it is southwest of the Sea of Lhasa. Then again, it’s a big and crazy world. For all we know, he could be here.”

  Chapter Eight: Sudden Departure

  I was at Mechanics Hall in downtown Worcester, Massachusetts, in a hundred-year-old building, the stone masonry calling to an era that no longer existed. I was in the grand ballroom on the third floor, a space with a polished oak balcony and large portraits of presidents and local leaders holding court over the room.

  I had picked up a gig as a waiter at the event, shuffling around with carefully arranged hors d’oeuvres on a gleaming silver tray, collecting people’s discarded beer bottles, their lipstick-stained wine glasses, and leftover food items. Two long tables filled with cheeses, expensive cuts of meat, olives, and other Mediterranean dishes meant to be finger foods held court on either side of the room.

  It was around this point that I realized I was dreaming, that the man playing a piano on the stage and the enormous oil painting hanging above him were all figments of my imagination. I could no longer make out the details, could no longer figure out which president was depicted in the portrait.

  I also couldn’t follow the music that was playing. Was it jazz? Something seasonal? A piano rendition of a top forty pop song? All I knew was that the man was playing, his head thrown back, a satisfied smile on his face.

  A woman in a sparkling silver gown passed me, and I handed her my tray of hors d’oeuvres. She took the tray and continued onward as if it were nothing, as if our interaction hadn’t happened.

  Realizing I was in control now, I took a seat in the middle of the floor, my legs crossed under my body. I closed my eyes as I settled my hands on my knees and took a deep breath in, breathing all the way to the back of my skull, letting the breath move down to my gut.

  And while I knew my mind would wander, that there were innumerable things that could play out in my head while in a dream, I focused on my breath. Every time my mind started to move away I returned to my breathing, maintaining my focus.

  The switch that activated my time ability appeare
d.

  I acknowledged it, and moved on; there was no telling how long I would have meditated within my dream had I not been woken up by a loud thunk against the wall.

  I blinked my eyes open, Saruul already up and in a crouching position.

  Roger was asleep, the bird snoring lightly.

  “What is it?” I whispered.

  Saruul nodded to the door, one of her ears twitching in the moonlight.

  “Something’s happening in the hallway?”

  She confirmed my question with a nod.

  “I’ll see what it is…”

  I made my way to the door, Saruul right behind me. Pressing my ear to the surface gave me a strange, auditory hint at what was happening on the other side of the door.

  I heard a woman’s whimper, the grunt of a man.

  “I’m going out there,” I told Saruul.

  “I know you are,” she whispered to me.

  I pressed out of the door to find one of Hugo’s soldiers pinning a female attendant against the wall. He was kissing her neck, his pants down, the man jerking himself off.

  The stink of alcohol hit my nostrils almost immediately.

  “Pull your pants up, and get the fuck out of here,” I told him, the woman letting out a little yelp when she saw me.

  “Stay right here,” the man growled to her as he lifted his pants, and turned to me. He crouched and retrieved a blade with a tassel on the end of it from his boot. The drunken soldier pointed the blade at the woman, reminding her to stay put.

  As he took a step closer to me, I traced Gyal-Ma, the rune that allowed me to absorb three blows.

  I could sense Saruul behind me; I knew the man didn’t have a chance.

  He took a swipe at me and I narrowly avoided his fist, stepping to his right.

  The time switch appeared before me and I mentally flicked it on, everything coming to a standstill. I brought my fist back, aiming it at the side of his head.

  Time kicked back to its normal pace.