“It’s beautiful,” Sarafina said.
“It has been home to my order for over fifteen hundred years,” Little Star said. “I have lived here for forty-five years, since the age of twelve.” He picked up the pace. “If we hurry, we will be able to join the others for first meal.”
Thirty minutes later we were seated in a grand hall eating with a couple dozen monks. We sat on cushions surrounding a long wooden table. Bands of sunlight angled into one side of the room from narrow windows at the vaulted roofline, illuminating walls adorned with ancient murals. Little Star was seated at the other end of the table beside an elderly man with a long white goatee and friendly eyes. He’d been introduced to us as the master of the order, and he and Little Star were deep in hushed conversation. The topic seemed to be Little Star’s twin swords, which had been placed on a side table. The mood was somber, and when I looked up from time to time I caught several of the monks casting curious glances my way. It made me feel uncomfortable so I focused on my food.
The vegetarian meal was small but filling, and flavored with only light spices. Ahmed sat beside me and Sarafina sat across from us. She pushed her half-finished plate away. “I can’t stop thinking about Uncle Timmy,” she muttered.
I shared her feelings but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to look her in the eyes. If I did, I was sure she’d see my guilt and then a new round of questions would start. I figured as long as I kept eating, they’d leave me alone. So I raised my bowl of soup to my lips and took a long sip. The clear broth was hot and flavorful. There were several walnut-sized dumplings swirling in the bottom of the bowl, and I used my finger to maneuver one into my mouth. It had a crunchy vegetable inside. It tasted good so I slurped in another.
“Me, either,” Ahmed said, gently pushing my sister’s plate back in front of her. “But we must eat. We need to build our strength for whatever lies ahead.”
She shook her head, staring at the plate with trembling lips.
“Your brother is right,” Little Star said, sitting down beside her.
I tilted my bowl back and two more dumplings slid into my mouth.
“Take a lesson from Alex,” Little Star said. “He honors his friend by enjoying his food.”
I kept my eyes buried in my bowl.
“It is normal to be sad over the loss of a loved one,” Little Star continued. “There is a part of us that feels guilty at the prospect of not keeping them constantly alive in our thoughts. But to embrace their memory in every waking minute starves one’s soul. Instead, set aside a moment of prayer each and every day to acknowledge your friend’s sacrifice and to mourn his loss. Look forward to that moment throughout the day but do not dwell on it. Permit yourself to smile when you think of him and recall the fond moments of his life. Is that not what he would wish?”
Sarafina’s expression shifted ever so slightly, and I had the sense Little Star’s words had struck a chord within her. She picked up her chopsticks and scooped up a bite of rice.
Ahmed appeared thoughtful. “Remember what he said when he woke up in the plane and found us sitting across from him?”
“‘Holy crap,’” she said. “He was like Uncle Marshall that way. They both liked to say ‘holy crap.’”
“And ‘dudes,’” Ahmed added.
Sarafina’s smile was brief, but real. A piece of rice tumbled from her lower lip.
Ahmed finished the thought. “When we were parachuting on the pallet toward the jungle and his head popped into view, he said, ‘Dudes, I can’t believe that worked!’”
They quieted again, and I sensed that the weight of Timmy’s loss had eased somewhat. Little Star’s words had rung true for me, too, and I promised myself I would say a prayer for Timmy each night. I set down my empty soup bowl and started in on a piece of orange-colored rice cake, doing my best to push my guilt aside.
As we ate, Little Star commented on the colorful murals adorning the walls on the far side of the room. He pointed to several that contained scenes of ancient Chinese battles, lines of soldiers clashing, leather-armored warlords atop rearing horses, bloody swords slashing, archers launching arrows from crossbows, men impaled and dying. Each scene included a scattering of monks wielding staves, swords, and other weapons, all of them wearing the same colored tunics as those worn by the men around the table.
“As you can see,” Little Star explained, “our history is steeped in the practice of martial arts. Each of us trains daily, beginning with the day of our arrival as children and ending only when age prohibits us. When our order was established centuries ago, our vow to protect the surrounding countryside had a far different scope than it does today. That is the heritage my brother referred to on the bridge.”
“He was your real brother?” Ahmed said. “I thought he called you brother because of your robes.”
“He was my brother, the eldest of the family.” His eyes twitched and I realized he was pushing his sadness—and guilt—aside, just as he had advised us to do.
He had killed his brother to save us.
Little Star continued, “Like most regions across the globe, China was a lawless territory for much of its history. Encroaching warlords and raiders were a common threat and we were often called upon to do battle. We used our skills mercilessly and earned a reputation as fierce warriors.” He pointed to a scene depicting monks fighting oddly dressed pirates. “In one famous encounter, forty of our order joined eighty monks from other temples to confront a formidable band of Japanese pirates. We defeated most of them in a bloody battle and chased the stragglers toward the sea for ten days, slaughtering them along the way until every one of them had been killed. Only four of us lost our lives in the encounter. News of our prowess spread, and it wasn’t long before raiders chose to seek simpler fields to harvest.”
He motioned toward the wall behind me. I followed his gaze to discover the sun had shifted, and the wall, previously cast in shadow, had come to life. Where the other murals spoke of battles and bloodshed, this wall displayed the wonders of nature. It was a lush landscape of jungle, mountains, and forest, teeming with life. There were deer, boars, monkeys, rabbits, butterflies, birds, and other animals I didn’t recognize. But what stole my breath was the scene that dominated the center of the wall, of a child monk seated among a family of bears. I approached the wall and the monks stilled behind me. I ran my fingers over the images of the bears. I was reminded of Mama Bear and her cubs, and of the other bears being tortured in tiny cages.
Little Star walked around the table and stood beside me. “It depicts an ancient legend of a time when bears and men were bitter enemies. Village warriors hunted the bears to near extinction, until those remaining joined together to fight back. Marauding bears terrorized the countryside, tormenting villagers by stealing their children, who were never seen again. This continued for many years, until one day a child monk was taken. Unlike the other children, the young monk was not frightened by the bears. Instead, he embraced them with his pure spirit, frolicking with their cubs and learning their ways. In the end, the bears were enchanted by the child. They returned him to his village and the monk taught his people to respect the bears rather than hunt them, until finally man and bear learned to share the jungle in peace.”
He placed a hand on my shoulder and guided me to the center of the room. He waved to Ahmed and Sarafina and they joined us. Everyone else had stopped eating to watch. I looked at the elderly monk at the head of the table. When he smiled, a wave of warmth washed over me.
Little Star pointed at the other murals. “If you look closely, you’ll see that our respect for the bears has been a cornerstone of our order since the beginning.” My eyes narrowed as I studied the walls, and it was like I was seeing the warlike pictures for the first time. Only this time I realized there were bears hidden in every scene, huddled behind rocks, beyond the trees, peeking from caves, always close to the monks, as if they watched over them. In one scene, a bear ran amidst the monks as they charged the enemy, his maw snarling.
“The bears taught us many things,” Little Star continued. “In fact, many of the movements we use in our training are modeled after them. But in the end, the most important lesson we learned was to appreciate life like the villagers did in the legend. And while our order shed much blood for most of the years of our history, we have since taken vows to leave that part of our past behind us. We still train and practice, but we have sworn that neither our weapons—nor our bodies—will ever again taste flesh.” He paused, and I suspected he was reflecting on what had happened on the bridge. When he spoke next, his words contained an undercurrent of anger. “And now the world has changed, and raiders with spears and swords have been replaced by drug lords with assault rifles and no regard for the sanctity of life. So we do what we can to protect the animals that are our family. You saw what they were doing to them on the farm.”
I looked up at him, amazed to realize he’d been watching us even then.
“Yes, I was there,” he said. “And I shared your disgust at what you saw. The harvesting of bile from these gentle animals is an insult against nature.” He hesitated before adding, “I also saw what you did for the bears outside, and my soul danced when I watched them run alongside you as you charged to save your brother and Timmy.”
He stared at me for a moment, as if waiting for me to say something. But I still wasn’t interested in talking.
“It’s alright,” he said, with a pat on my shoulder. “Words aren’t necessary to communicate what is in your heart. Your true spirit is laid bare by the friends you keep and the actions you take. I see the child monk in you, and like him, your courage and sense of caring are there for all to see. Even the bears witnessed it.”
The praise felt good and my face flushed.
A moment later, a young monk entered the hall bearing an old leather suitcase and a set of keys. His eyes were moist. He bowed deeply and handed them to Little Star.
Little Star took the suitcase and pocketed the keys, and all at once the monks rose and bowed toward us. Little Star returned the gesture and the monks held the position for a long moment. When they finally rose to face us, most of the monks at the table shared pained expressions, and an overwhelming sense of sadness descended on the room. Sarafina and Ahmed inched closer to me. A monk at the near side of the table captured Little Star’s gaze, and I sensed unspoken words of friendship pass between them. Then the monk nodded, turned, and walked solemnly from the room. One by one, the other monks did the same, until the only one remaining was the elderly master of the order. The moment stretched as he and Little Star looked at each another.
Finally, the old man said, “You came in peace, and you leave in peace. Go now, Little Star, and fulfill your destiny.” His hands trembled as he turned and left the room.
Little Star let out a long sigh. He motioned toward a table at the far end of the room. “Better grab your packs.”
“We’re leaving?” Sarafina said. “Now?”
“I’m afraid we must.”
Ahmed said, “Wait just a minute. We have to get online first. We need to see if our parents or any of our friends have checked in.”
“I’m sorry. Only monks are allowed beyond this room.”
“Can’t you check for us?”
He shook his head. “As I said, only monks are allowed access.” He paused. “I am no longer a monk.”
Sarafina’s hand flew to her mouth.
“I broke my vow.”
Ahmed said, “That’s ridiculous. You saved our lives. And besides, your blades never touched flesh. You simply cut the rope.” His expression turned angry and he started toward the door to the monastery’s inner recesses.
Little Star caught his arm. “You’d not make it past the next corridor, my young friend. I’m sorry but it is not permitted.”
Ahmed glared at him. “But it’s not fair. Your blade never touched them.”
Little Star held him fast and returned his stare.
Ahmed’s shoulders sagged. “I know,” he muttered. “It’s a lame excuse.”
“We must stand by the promises we make and the actions we take,” Little Star said, releasing Ahmed’s arm. “I am saddened by the consequences but I do not regret my actions.” His eyes grew distant. “I fully accept the sacrifice I made. For a life without sacrifice is like a bird without wings—where one dreams of a life fulfilled but has no means to achieve it. It is only through sacrifice that we learn the true value of our existence.”
Ahmed gathered our packs and handed them out. Then he pointed to the side table. “What about your swords?”
“Except for the clothes on my back, I must leave with nothing more than what I brought with me.”
Ahmed huffed. “No weapons. That’s just great.”
“And no Internet to check on our family,” Sarafina added.
Little Star jiggled the keys in his hand. “You’ll have every technology at your fingertips soon enough,” he said. “But I doubt you’ll need it. Because I already know where your family and friends were taken.”
###
Author’s Note
If you enjoyed Everlast, I’d love to hear from you! If so, send an email via the “Contact” link at RichardBard.com, or better yet leave a quick review on Amazon. Reviews are a huge boost for newer authors like me. If you’d like to help, you’ll find a link after the final page of this book.
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Finally, I’m a reader too, and I don’t like to wait a year to find out what happens next in a story any more than you do. That’s why I made a point of finishing Ephemeral, book two of the Everlast Duology, before I launched book one. Ephemeral was named as one of “IndieReader’s Best Books of 2014,” and is available HERE. I promise it’s a wild ride with a stunning ending.
And for new Brainrush thriller fans, check out the next page.
IF YOU ENJOYED Everlast, you’ll also love reading the genesis of Jake’s and Alex’s story in the Brainrush trilogy. With well over fifteen hundred five-star reviews to date, it’s a thrill ride that’s sure to capture your imagination. Check out the covers:
The Brainrush trilogy is about second chances and embracing every day of your life as though it were your last. Called “a terrifically entertaining thriller” by Publishers Weekly, book one of the series was named The Wall Street Journal’s #1 action/adventure title in its Guide to Self-Published Big Sellers, while book two held a death grip on the top of the Amazon Top-Rated Mystery/Thriller list for ten straight months. This set the stage for the blockbuster release of book three, which was heralded by Suspense Magazine as “part science fiction, part thriller, part suspense, part love story, and part mystery. It’s got it all and that’s what makes this novel one of the best.” You can check them out on Amazon or at my website RichardBard.com.
Author Bio
Richard Bard draws on his own experiences as a former USAF pilot and cancer survivor to craft compelling characters who risk it all for love and loyalty. Born in Munich, Germany, to American parents, he joined the United States Air Force like his father. But he left the service when he was diagnosed with cancer and learned he had only months to live. He earned a management degree from the University of Notre Dame and ran three successful companies involving advanced security products used by US embassies and governments worldwide. Now a full-time writer, he lives in Redondo Beach, California, with his wife and remains in excellent health.
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ard, Richard, Brainrush 04 - Everlast 01: Everlast
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