Divine Madness

by Harmon Cooper

“In that case…” Roger ran his left wing over his head as if he were slicking back his hair. “I need to get cleaned up. Also, I might need some type of fur jacket or something. Is there a tailor there?”

  “A bird with clothing?” Saruul smirked.

  “I’m not made for this kind of weather. I’m more of a jungle-by-the-beach type of guy, who sometimes ventures into the mountains looking to get away from it all. In fact, that’s how we met each other,” he told me. “Had you walked along that path just a couple hours later, I would have been long gone, back to the jungle. But I need to cool off.”

  “There’s a tailor in the market, but I’m quite certain they haven’t worked with the birds before.”

  “What’s so hard to work with?” Roger asked her. “Just make something that wraps around my body that my wings can stick out of. I’m not ashamed of it. I need to stay warm. Do you know what I have been through since I met your buddy over here?” he asked, nodding toward me.

  “No, I do not.”

  Roger launched into an explanation of some of the things that had happened, definitely adding a hyperbolic touch to some of the occurrences, ending with how he faked his own death but “gracefully” knocked himself out in the process, all of which seemed to amuse Saruul.

  We came to a pass demarcated by a petrified tree with a portion of its trunk scraped flat to allow for some writing.

  Lhandon read the script and looked up at me.

  “Anything?”

  “Just a blessing. A hermit wrote it for anyone who comes to this point. There is a belief that walking past it will generate a small amount of wind that moves across the blessing, carrying it with the person, and spreading good karma. I suppose we should all walk past it.”

  “The direction is this way,” Saruul said, nodding toward the trail on the left.

  “Perfectly fine. Everyone walk past the marking and move to the other pass. It is foolish to ignore a free blessing. Make sure Bobby goes past the marking as well,” he told Gansukh, “of all people, he is most in need of a blessing.”

  Once we did as Lhandon instructed, Gansukh dragging Bobby in the ice sled past the carved blessing, our group made its way along the new trail, which became rockier with every step.

  The clouds looked closer than they had ever looked before, and it was only when I took a deep breath in that I realized how thin the air was up here, that it was imperative that I focus on my breathing from here on out, at least until I got used to the altitude.

  “The two monks will stay in the monastery, and the spirits can stay with them,” Saruul explained as we walked. “Since one of the monks is taking care of your friend, I’m sure they can host him at the monastery as well. You and Roger will stay with me, at my mother’s home. And that gets me back to the point that we were discussing earlier, the training that you requested.”

  “So, you know someone?” I asked her.

  “I’m intimately familiar with someone, yes,” she said, something curious about the way she was looking at me. “But it won’t be easy, and the trainer I know means business.”

  “As long as it doesn’t kill me…”

  “That is not something I can guarantee.”

  “And if it helps, I can stay at the monastery as well,” I started to tell her. “I don’t want to bother you and your family.”

  “No family; it’s just my mother and me,” she said with a shrug. “My father died long ago doing what so many lions end up doing.”

  “What’s that?” Roger asked. “I’m genuinely curious over here. The only experience I have with lions is actively trying to avoid them.”

  “He died in a fight with another male lion. It was at the same festival I’ve already mentioned to you; I was a young girl when it happened and I don’t remember much about him. Lions get pretty drunk during the Winter Moon festival, and their drinking leads to fighting. There are a lot of grudges in the village, which are suppressed most of the year until the festival comes around. We lions even have a word for when you fight someone nearly to the death and they later become your friend.”

  “Frenemy?” I asked.

  Roger laughed. “That is the dumbest word I have ever heard.”

  “Are you talking about words used in your world?” Lhandon asked, who had been listening to our conversation, at least the part he could understand.

  “I just thought it would fit.”

  “I would like to learn more of these words from your world,” Saruul said as we started up a path accented by discolored prayer flags.

  “Then what is the word?” Roger asked her once Saruul didn’t reveal it.

  “Friend-who-was-once-an-enemy,” she said in a way that indicated that he should already know the word.

  “That’s it?” Roger cackled. “You should use Nick’s word for it. It’s a way better fit.”

  “I don’t know how my people are going to react to you, Roger,” she said, her attention still on the trail ahead, “but if I were you, I would do my best not to chastise or correct them. As I told you, we don’t normally eat tropical birds, but as with everything, I’m sure there are exceptions that could be made.”

  The thing that struck me at first was that we were completely above the clouds now, mountain peaks still visible on the horizon, the air thin.

  I had seen pictures of landscapes like this, but I had never been high enough up for the mountain to break through the clouds. It was beautiful, and at points it almost looked like we were walking along the shore of a white lake, cumulus wisps moving along the tops of the water.

  Mountain peaks in the distance reflected onto the tops of the clouds, creating an entirely surreal experience, the sun brighter up here, my brain immediately associating the visual with that of an alien world.

  Our group was still going strong, aside from Lhandon who was huffing and puffing at the back. We had walked for hours, only resting to eat some of the meat we’d stored, and for Altan to attend to Bobby.

  Transporting Bobby continued to be an issue, and Altan took over once we saw activity in the distance, Gansukh returning to its bottle. We walked up another hill and were suddenly at ground level with a village fortified by a wall tipped in icy spikes.

  Four large lion men stood at the city gate. Two held spears and the other two had enormous mallets. They were poised for action, all of their shoulders hunching when they saw us.

  One of them took a menacing step forward and growled.

  “Easy, Champa,” Saruul said as she approached the man. “All of them are with me.”

  “There haven’t been outsiders to this village in years,” he said under his breath, his ears flickering as he bared his canines. His face started to morph and stopped, Champa pleased he had elicited a gasp from Lhandon.

  “There hasn’t been a Winter Moon festival since last year. What’s your point? Time rolls on and things change. They are here as my guests, and in particular, the monks were sent here by the Eternal Hermit, who has since died.”

  Champa’s angry glare softened. “What killed him?”

  “People from sea level, from Nagchu.”

  The muscular lion man lowered his mallet from his shoulder, his other fist tensing up. “Such barbarians,” he finally said, the look on his face telling me that he clearly had more to add to that, yet he was trying to maintain control of his words.

  “Yes,” Saruul agreed, “so this group will be here for a little while as they follow his instructions to meet Jigme at the Temple of Eternal Sky. Please allow them to coexist here peacefully.”

  “That’s not up to me…” Champa said, trying to contain a smile that had started to lift on his face.

  “You have been warned.” Saruul stepped past him, nodding for us to follow.

  Tashi and Gansukh were both in their bottles now, so it wasn’t like we floated into the village with an ice and a fire spirit as part of our entourage, but that didn’t stop everyone we encountered from staring at us, the young children pointing and whispering things to their
mothers.

  Some of the lion people were in human form, others were moving around as lions, the men especially large with their thick white and black manes, many of them expertly groomed.

  The homes in Dornod were made of stone, shaped like igloos, and they were very low to the ground. The biggest building in the village was clearly the temple with silver pagodas topping the enormous structure.

  I had a ton of questions, some of the answers coming to me instantly when I noticed steam coming from the ground. Looking to my left, I saw a well with a cloud billowing off the top of it, a young lion in front of the well lowering a pail and staring us down at the same time.

  As we continued toward the monastery, I witnessed a male and female lion working on a new home, steam rising up from the hole they had dug. The underground stream likely warmed their homes as well, which would explain why they were all so low to the ground.

  “My home is over there,” Saruul said, nodding to the northwestern side of the village. “But we can drop them off first. I’m sure Jigme will be happy to see you all.”

  We approached the Temple of Eternal Sky, prayer wheels spinning on both sides of our group as a breeze whipped up, a great dome overhead with a golden sun and moon at its tip coming into view.

  We left Bobby’s ice sled at the bottom of the steps, Lhandon leading the way as Saruul stayed behind with me.

  “Where are these birds you’re talking about?” Roger asked her.

  “I see you are interested,” Saruul said, looking up at Roger, who was flying in a circle above us.

  “No, I’m cold,” he said, “and was hoping to figure out a way to keep warm.”

  “Just get in my robes,” I told him.

  Roger dropped down onto my shoulder. He moved some of the cloth aside and got situated, even as I helped Altan carry Bobby up the steps.

  “I didn’t mean right now…”

  Roger cackled. “A little word of advice, Nick: never offer a bird a warm space. That’s just inviting trouble. But I won’t be long; using you for warmth will work until we get that fur jacket I was promised.”

  Lhandon entered after taking off his sandals, his head slightly tucked, his chin to his chest. We followed, Altan and I locating a spot to deposit Bobby at the back.

  The main prayer hall was made of polished stone, the space defined by several pillars that rose to the dome up top.

  Rather than any type of stained glass art, as there had been back at Lhandon’s monastery, there was a giant painting of a seated snow lion on the far wall, and several matching paintings featuring lion monks sitting on flowers. There was also a lion whose skin was completely green, the man famished. The main artwork was framed by golden fabric, and splayed out before the painting were offerings of food, plants, and money.

  The room instantly had weight, a gravitas I could feel.

  My eyes fell upon a seated monk who wore all white robes, his back to us, his ears erect as he bowed at the painted image. He lifted one finger in the air, letting us know that he was finishing up, and once he bowed again, he stood and turned to us, a calm smile on his face.

  He was a medium-sized man with long white hair, which was pulled into a ponytail.

  Lhandon dropped his hands to his side and bowed respectfully. “Thank you for having us, Jigme, lion monk. I have a gift for you.”

  Lhandon reached into the front of his robes and handed Jigme the small bag of sand-sized crystals. Jigme brought the bag to his forehead, thanking Lhandon.

  Several other monks dressed in white came out of the room in the back, each of them carrying folded white robes. They were younger than the man who now stood before us, their tails hooked in the air.

  Lining up behind one another, they placed the robes on large cushions on the ground, bowed at the monk standing before us, bowed at Lhandon, and then came to Bobby’s aid, carrying him out of the room.

  “You must be ready to get out of your tattered robes and into something warmer,” Jigme said, a curious look on his face as he took us in.

  “You knew we were coming?” Lhandon asked.

  “Snow lions have their ways, but to answer your question, yes,” he said, slowly gesturing toward the robes. “Although, I don’t know the full purpose of your visit, just that it is important. Please, change your clothing, and join me in the other room once you do. There’s much to discuss, and we can do so over tea and biscuits.”

  “Yes, much to discuss,” Lhandon said as he turned to the robes laid out before him. He hesitated for a moment, clearly concerned that there wasn’t a robe large enough for him.

  “These robes are designed to allow for some elasticity, especially when we morph,” Jigme told him. “The fabric is flexible, and it will feel snug, but not too tight. I assure you.”

  “Thank you,” Lhandon said.

  “Join us when you’re dressed.” Jigme nodded for Saruul to follow him.

  “Do you mind if our fire spirit listens to what we plan to discuss?” I asked Jigme, who sat cross-legged at the front of a low table. Saruul was next to him, the space across from her occupied by Lhandon.

  All of us wore white robes now, which were warm, just as Jigme had said they would be.

  They also made me feel dirty.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bathed, and seeing the white robes against my skin told me that it was definitely something that needed to happen, especially if I was to meet Saruul’s mother.

  “You have a fire spirit?” he asked.

  “And an ice spirit,” Lhandon said, placing his bottle on the table. I did the same, waiting for Jigme to give us an answer.

  The lion monk nodded. “If they are part of your party, then they should be privy to our conversation.”

  “Thank you,” I said, tapping once on the bottle.

  Tashi emerged, staying about the size of an action figure. I looked over to Lhandon’s bottle to see that Gansukh had done the same.

  “Before we go any further, I believe you should read this letter.” Lhandon reached in his robes for the note that Baatar had left him. “He wrote the final part just before the, um, Monastery of the Exalted One was burned to the ground.”

  “I see,” Jigme said, a disappointed look on his face. “And I’m sorry that you had to experience that. We lion people are lucky. We are too far away from the rest of Lhasa to be bothered by those at sea level. There are other groups in the same position as ours, like the bird people, who are even higher up than us. On one hand, this is a good thing, because it allows for preservation, like this temple here, the Temple of Eternal Sky. This temple has been here for nearly fifteen hundred years, if you can imagine that. On the other hand, it keeps us isolated, and simple-minded at times.”

  I took a look at the ceiling, noticing there was something very rudimentary about its construction, a craftsman-like quality that gave me an even greater appreciation for the structure. It really was old.

  “It is an amazing monastery,” Altan said, “and I’m glad to have cultivated enough karma to visit in this lifetime.”

  “Yes, it truly is something,” Lhandon said.

  Jigme read the letter and once he was finished, he brought it up to his forehead. “Surely you realize I can’t give you a copy of the Book of the Immortals?” he asked after he finished.

  “Of course not, and I would never ask for such a thing. But I would like to copy it,” Lhandon told him. “And while I do so, I’m going to look through the notes the Eternal Hermit left me as well as his journals, to work toward a codified Path of the Divine. With your blessings, of course. I would also like to peruse your library here if there is time.”

  “Certainly,” Jigme said as he handed the letter back to Lhandon. “I will have one of my monks prepare a copying station for you.”

  One of the younger lion monks who had been standing near the door stepped forward, bowed at Jigme, and immediately left the room.

  “I am assuming that Baatar had told you at least an overview of what the book contain
s, correct?”

  Lhandon nodded.

  “Thupten the Corrupted established Lhasa; Misake the Whisperer established the Kingdom of Rinpunga; Padme Lung the Virtuous established the Kingdom of Paro; Ganbold the Strong established the Island Kingdom of Jonang; and Kenzo the Written established the Island Kingdom of Tsirang,” Jigme said, refreshing my memory. “Various sects consider each of them Golden Ones, which has become an issue with interpreting what they did without referring to the book for their true history. It has gotten even sloppier than that, where no one even remembers who they are, just that there was once a Golden One!”

  “And that brings us to him,” Lhandon said, gesturing over toward me. “As well as the man that your monks have taken to the infirmary.”

  “They are from a different world?” Jigme asked in an almost nonchalant way as he looked over to me. If he was surprised by this discovery at all, he wasn’t showing it.

  “Yes,” I said, launching into an overview of my story.

  I started from the beginning, making my way to how I arrived in Lhasa, eventually acquired the Flaming Thunderbolt of Wisdom, and burned down Madame Mabel’s lotus fields. As I finished up my explanation, leaving out a few details like my time in the meditation chamber, another monk brought tea for us, followed by a different monk who carried two long trays of biscuits, his tail bouncing behind him as he left.

  “Please, eat,” Jigme said after I finished my explanation. “Sometimes it’s good just to eat and think, and what you’ve just told me has made me quite hungry.”

  Lhandon laughed. “It is a little hard to believe, but it’s true.”

  “No, I believe it; he looks like an outsider.”

  “He saved me,” Saruul interjected, looking from Jigme to me. “And then he healed me after that. I owe him my life. Had he not come along…”

  “Then it was fate,” Jigme said.

  I fed a biscuit to Roger, the bird happily taking it to the floor to finish it off. “While Lhandon does what he needs to do here at the monastery, my goal is to get some training. I would like to better understand the ability that I have apparently received from coming through the portal, and while I don’t think I’m ready yet, at some point I would like to have control over it.”