by Sean Platt
Amit released his father, who collapsed to the floor. His perplexed face looked up at Amit, neck broken into a strange angle.
“I forgive you,” he told the corpse. “And I understand.”
Chapter 29
AMIT KNELT ON THE GROUND, in front of the large stone, with the small, dark boy by his side. Behind them was a tall woman with a birthmark on her neck and long fingernails, somewhat red-stained on the underside. The woman stayed back. This was between the monk and the boy.
“I have nothing to give,” said Sameer.
“It does not matter. This is not a grave. But none of that matters. Your sister is gone. It does not matter if you kneel over her remains or her ashes, and she is beyond caring if you bring an offering to lie at the foot of a stone marking her place of rest. We are more than bodies. She was good, and innocent. She has moved on. This is about you.”
The boy looked at Amit, waiting. His eyes had become hard over the past weeks, and were now little like the soft, naive eyes Amit had encountered months ago.
“And me,” Amit added.
Sameer lowered his head, chin to chest. His hands made a small motion, as if laying something on an imaginary grave. Amit closed his eyes and did the same, though his hands were still. He imagined Nisha as she was, now gone or in her next life. He had never mourned, and only now knew why. He was afraid of losing control. Anger protected him from despair. Amit had spent too long learning to braid leashes for his true feelings, and would do so no more.
When Sameer was finished crying over the grave that was not a grave, he wiped his eyes, sniffed, and stood tall. Together, they walked to the dormitory. Amala followed, and did not speak until Sameer was off with the other children. Amit turned from Sameer to find her looking at him.
“You bested Woo in battle.”
Amit nodded slowly. She hadn’t asked a question; it sounded more like a challenge.
“Because it was vengeance. He killed this girl. The boy’s sister.”
“Nisha.”
Amala nodded. She’d grown into her oddities. The sharp fingernails he’d thought were so strange had saved his life. He thought of what Woo had said about Amala and Rafi and himself, and he thought about the many moments he’d spent with Amala, unaware. This moment, with Woo dead, felt like a strange beginning. Amit looked at her with new eyes, and found that she was beautiful.
“It was an eye for an eye.”
“Well … ”
“Or was it for the order?”
“I … ”
Amala didn’t wait for his answer. She turned and began walking, leaving him to follow.
“I remember a day when you saved me.” She turned to look at Amit, then nodded knowingly. “That is why I saved you. I was facing a cobra, and you crushed it to rescue me. You were facing a cobra, and I crushed it to rescue you. That is all.”
Amala wasn’t talking to him. She was talking, and he happened to be nearby. He felt suddenly at a loss and scampered to keep up. With Woo dead, he was in charge at the second Sri monastery whether he liked it or not. He didn’t want to step into the old man’s shoes, but a league of dangerous assassins needed a head. Woo had wound them up, Amit had to wind them down. Several warriors, knowing this, had asked if they should cease with their training and drills. Amit didn’t know what to do, so he let them continue. Somehow, dismantling the machine without fully processing the papers left by Woo — and assessing the threats facing the order — seemed foolhardy. He would wait, and lead the order. Then dismantle later.
“I was so angry that day,” said Amala, her voice nostalgic. Her short female monk’s hair — dark chestnut but not black, thick but not like the others — bounced on her head as she walked, tickling her ears. “I was very close to hitting you. The feeling was deep, and it surprised me. It almost surprised me so much that I forgot that hitting you to make you atone for hurting another living creature was the height of absurdity.” She stopped to face him. “But I didn’t know, Amit. All the time you had your problems, always so angry, always taking extra time with Woo … I never truly understood what it was like to be surprised by emotion. I grew up with the Sri. I came when Woo called me, and did as told. I have never, before Rafi, made a sacrifice.”
Amit remembered the cobra, her anger, and how incensed he’d been in return. To Amit, killing the cobra was an obvious response. But then he realized what she was saying, and how this time, she’d killed the cobra instead of trying to drive it away.
Amala closed her eyes, put her palms together in a peak against her chest, and bowed. “I never thanked you. So, now that I understand: Thank you, Amit, for saving me from the creature that was going to kill me.”
“You’re … you’re welcome,” he stammered. He was going to return her thanks, but she was already moving. A score had been settled. The girl who hadn’t seen the value of killing understood: You could not always approach decisions of life and death rationally. Sometimes, the animal inside did what had to be done.
“You did not snap at Woo. You did not kill him in battle.”
Amit didn’t see the point in lying. “No.”
“He talked about you, Amit. Often. Enough that once I asked him when he would send for you. He said you were not ready, and that when the time was right, you would come to us. He sent for the rest of us. I didn’t see why you were different, until I realized that you always were. Like Woo.” She shrugged, then held up her fancy fingernails. “Like me, though I did not know it. I remembered the way he’d always taken you aside as a special project, and how it seemed like he was grooming you to step out of line: a good Sri monk, but a disruptor. For a while, I couldn’t figure it out, then finally did. I knew when you came, Woo’s leadership would end.”
“Why?”
“Because if you want to create a warrior, you train one. There was only one reason to train a disruptor.”
“Why is that?”
“To disrupt.”
Amala gave Amit a small smile, then sat on a large rock that looked out across the western valley. The sun was low, orange, and almost set. Amit sat beside her.
“So, disruptor,” she said. “Will you dismantle the order? Will you merge us with the other monastery, reunite us with Suni?”
“I must assess.” He heard Woo in his mind: Question everything, including me. “I must study what he left me, and to take nothing for granted. I must not be swayed by prejudices, be they mine or Woo’s or anyone else’s.”
“But if true inspiration comes from within,” Amala said, touching her chest, “what does your heart suggest that you will do, now that you command us?”
Amit thought. The sun was touching the saw-toothed mountains across the valley. Those points of reference allowed him to actually see the sun’s progress. He watched as it melted into the land below.
“I will do whatever serves the greater good.”
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More Revenge?
Want to Read Another Tale of Revenge?
If you liked Namaste, you’ll love Collective Inkwell’s Monstrous.
They say that behind every comedian lurks a tortured soul…
Yet, comedian Henry Black finally has everything he’s always dreamed of: a thriving career, and a wife and daughter who he loves more than life itself. After years of struggle, he finally
has it made.
Until three men force their way into his home, killing Henry and destroying the safe, comfortable world he has built for his family.
But that is only the beginning of his hellish torment. He wakes in purgatory, where he’s met by two men, both offering a choice. Randall offers a chance at heaven. Boothe, however, offers something far more tempting—a chance to go back to his life.
A chance to see if his family is okay.
For Henry, there is no choice. He accepts Boothe’s deal. But with every deal comes a price: his body is twisted to match his sins, and Henry is no longer the man his wife remembered—Henry is no longer a man at all.
He is monstrous.
Thrust into darkness and madness—unable to be with the people he loves—Henry embraces his new form, and his new supernatural abilities, and does the only thing he can: avenge his murder. But as Henry grows closer to the truth of what happened on that terrible night, he grows further from his humanity.
How far will he go to seek revenge?
And is he willing to sacrifice his soul?
From the authors who brought you Z 2134, Yesterday’s Gone, and ForNevermore, comes another dark tale sure that will keep you tearing through the pages.
>> Click Here to Read Monstrous <<
About the Authors
Johnny B. Truant is an author, blogger, and podcaster who, like the Ramones, was long denied induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame despite having a large cult following. He makes his online home at JohnnyBTruant.com and is the author of the Fat Vampire series and The Bialy Pimps, both of which were written for adults. You can find a complete list of Johnny’s books here.
You can connect with Johnny on Twitter at @JohnnyBTruant, and you should totally send him an email at [email protected] if the mood strikes you.
Sean Platt is speaker, author, and co-founder of the Collective Inkwell, home to breakout indie hits like Yesterday’s Gone, WhiteSpace, and the traditionally published titles, Z 2134 and Monstrous co-authored with David W. Wright. Sean is also co-founder of genre hopping, reader loved Realm & Sands, with the spiritual epic Unicorn Western, future history of The Beam, and the revenge thriller, Namaste. See all Sean’s books here.
You can find Sean at SeanMPlatt.Com, Follow him on Twitter at @SeanPlatt, or email him at [email protected].
Johnny and Sean, along with David Wright (the guy whose curmudgeony stance on western research inspired the Unicorn Western series) host two podcasts: the horror/comedy show Better Off Undead and the Self Publishing Podcast. Both podcasts are available on iTunes and the other podcast directories, as well as on Stitcher Radio, and both are for mature audiences only.
