Path of the Tiger

by J M Hemmings

  ***

  ‘Will! Will, come play!’

  ‘Davy?!’

  ‘It’s lovely ‘ere, Will! Look at the trees! They’s all sorts o’ colours, all orange an’ red an’ yellow an’ brown! Let’s make a leaf pile Will! Let’s jump in it!’

  ‘But Davy, you’re … you’re no’…’

  ‘Stay here Will, stay in the forest wiff me. It’s so lovely ‘ere, Will, so much nicer than ol’ Goody-Goode’s! I don’t never ‘ave to climb up no flues no more! And you don’t need to neither! Just stay here an’ play!’

  William looked at the ground beneath his feet and saw that it was an impossibly plush carpet of multicoloured autumn leaves. A warm zephyr scuttled through them and rippled their flame-and-earth-coloured mass, scattering them and juggling them atop its multilayered currents. Here one leaf danced a tarantella, there two waltzed in a dizzying spiral. A kaleidoscope of fiery hues, swirling chaotically through this great, many-pillared ballroom of trees, domed overhead by a too-blue sky, deep and rich in its saturation.

  Davy stood smiling between two trees, his little arms and insubstantial torso wrapped against any wintry chill by a thick red jersey, while his stumpy legs were attired in chestnut corduroy. His feet, for so many years clothed only in caked mud and coal dust, were now clad in little shoes, shoes that had been laced up tight by a caring hand. Atop his body a too-big head glowed with a hitherto-unseen radiance; the blue eyes mirrored the expanse of azure above, the chubby cheeks were rosy and clean, and his wispy brown hair was trimmed and combed into a neat side parting. Not a single speck of coal dust or soot was visible anywhere.

  ‘Come on Will! Stay here wiff me!’

  A tiny hand, reaching out to him, crossing space, time, memories and … life.

  And death, death too.

  What was this place?

  William reached out, wanting with such a crushing intensity of longing to touch the hand of the friend he had lost so many years ago.

  Wait.

  What?

  WHAT?!

  He stared in horrified disbelief at his arm. Reaching out, from where his hand should have been, there was not a human hand, but instead an enormous paw covered in thick fur, the hues of which were orange, yellow, brown and white, all crossed with bold, jagged stripes of black. And on its toes, savage claws.

  A tiger paw.

  What trickery, what devilry was this?

  William tried to scream.

  A tiger roar, tearing the leaves off of the nearby trees with its hurricane power.

  Davy smiled, seemingly oblivious.

  ‘Come on Will! There’s a jungle gym in the forest we can climb. An’ a lovely stream we can skip stones across. It’s got ducks too, an’ I’ve a loaf of bread to feed ‘em wiff.’

  William backed up.

  I’m on all fours. I’m on ALL FOURS, like an ANIMAL! My legs, my arms, what’s … what’s happening?! WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?!

  ‘No, Davy, help me, help me, please, help me!’

  ‘Roar, roar, roar roar, roar roar, roar, roar roar!’

  Davy started laughing, and then he turned his back and began to walk away.

  Pain, rushing in with the howl of a typhoon inside his ear drum. Pervasive, stabbing, tearing, skin-flaying, salt rubbing in raw wounds, boiling oil poured over peeled-back skin and exposed muscle, no, no, no NO NO NOOOOOOO—

  ***

  ‘Wake up my love. You’re having a bad dream. Wake up, my beautiful cavalryman!’

  ‘Au-, Aurora?’

  Her lips, on mine … oh God, I’ve missed this. God, how terribly I’ve missed this.

  ‘We’re going to wake up every day like this, my love, from now until forever.’

  It’s her. She’s speaking. It’s really her, she’s really here with me.

  ‘My beautiful William … I’m so happy I could die, I could die right now. Nothing in all of existence, in all of the entire universe, could possibly make me happier than you next to me, your hand in mine, our legs intertwined beneath these sheets … I could drink you in for the rest of my days, my lover, my lancer, my knight, my prince.’

  I can smell her, feel her skin, taste her lips, hear her voice like the harp of an angel inside my mind, sense the heat of her body against mine … but I can’t open my eyes, I just can’t…

  ‘Aurora, I’ve waited fir this fir so long, I’ve been through so much, just fir you … I’ve seen things, I’ve done things, things tha’ I cannae speak of, things tha’ no man should have tae—’

  ‘Shh my love. We are together now, and nothing can come between us, not ever again. It’s just how we wanted it, how we dreamed of it, just like that night on the hill under the glow of the stars and the Northern Lights. Our dream has finally come to pass, my prince! Feel this, on my finger. Go on, feel it!’

  Slim, dainty fingers slipping between his rough digits, directing his fingertips with delectable softness.

  What’s this? A ring? A jewelled ring?

  ‘Can you feel that, William? You put it there.’

  ‘We’re … we’re—’

  ‘Husband and wife, my love. Together. For all time, until the end of all things. These two halves of this lost soul, this broken soul that has been searching through time and space, across vast distances, across lifetimes … Finally each half has found the other, and can be one again.’

  ‘It’s too good tae be true. This cannae be, Aurora … I must—’

  ‘Shh. Kiss me William. Kiss me, hold me close to you, and never let me go.’

  Her lips, on mine. Her fingertips, entwined with mine. Her hair, falling over my face. Bare breasts, resting so softly on my chest, silken belly pressing against me. She’s taking my hand, ever so gently. Taking it, pulling it down, down further … A brush over a nipple, a drag across the curve of a breast, a light touch on the indentation between ribs, and now coming to rest here, here on the little hollow of her belly button.

  ‘Feel that, my knight. Can you feel it?’

  A heartbeat. But not hers. Another heartbeat. New life.

  ‘You put her there, William. She’s a manifestation of our love, and she will one day be queen of everything. Can you feel her little heart? Can you feel the power and love it pulses through the universe with every tiny thump?’

  ‘I can, my love … oh by the Father above, I can!’

  ‘Shh … listen … she’s about to speak.’

  ‘Speak? But she’s only—’

  ‘Shh.’

  A roar. A tiger’s roar. Coming from down there, from inside her…

  No. NO! NO!

  Pain. Rushing back, steaming in with the voracious force of a tsunami, destroying, tearing everything apart, even the darkness itself, howling behind my eyes, shearing with razor blades and dissolving with bubbling with acid and oh God the agony, the horror, the terror, it’s too much, it’s too much, help, help HELP HELP HEEELLPPP—

  Blackness.

  Oblivion…

  ***

  William woke up, and the immediate and overriding sensation was that of pain. Every inch of his body was racked with it, and chilly sweat pooled in every crevice and dewed like heavy condensation on his forehead. The sounds of the forest filled his ears, and dappled sunlight, bright in its leopard-coat patches, drizzled through the treetops and came to rest on the carpet of leaves upon which he lay.

  ‘The young one is stirring, at last! Welcome, my new friend, to your afterlife! Not the afterlife, in which your people believe, but certainly a brand-new life, for the old you has now passed into shadow, and you have been reborn afresh. Here, drink, drink of this pure and refreshing mountain water!’

  He looked up through gummy, crusty eyes, and saw the thin Indian man, dressed in his simple brown robe, squatting down next to him. The man supported the back of William’s head gently with his left hand, and with his right he brought a clay pitcher up to his lips.

  ‘Come my young friend, drink. It will refresh you.’

  Too weak to resist, W
illiam parted his lips, half expecting his mouth to be filled with scalding bitterness or corrosive poison, but instead he tasted the sweet relief of cool spring water trickling in. He drank slowly at first, but soon started gulping down the liquid until he had drained the pitcher completely.

  ‘Good!’ the man laughed in his gentle, lilting voice, which was dense with an Indian accent. ‘The life-force is powerful within you.’

  ‘Who … who are you?’ William managed to croak as the man laid his head back upon a pillow of leaves.

  The man chuckled with convivial laughter before replying.

  ‘I am one of your new friends, Englishman.’

  William turned his head to the side, peering around to try to make sense of where he was, for all he could see above were branches, treetops and sky. To his left, thick forest stretched out as far as the eye could see, and when he turned to the right the same view greeted him.

  ‘Where am I? How did I get here? Who, who are you people? Why—’

  The Indian man pressed a gentle finger to William’s lips to silence him.

  ‘Hush, young one. All of your questions will be answered in time … but not at this particular time. At this present moment though, there are two who wish to greet you before you sink back into the sleep that your body needs right now.’

  The Indian man stood up and beckoned to someone outside of William’s line of sight. He was able to discern the crunch of human footsteps on the leaves, but also heard the sound of the hooves of a horse. He smelled that familiar rich, earthy scent before he saw him – and then, all of a sudden, a huge wet nose was in his face, nuzzling and nudging him with loving enthusiasm. A familiar snort and a whinny confirmed his friend’s identity.

  ‘River King!’ William exclaimed, reaching up to stroke the horse’s face. ‘River King, my wonderful, sweet, lovely boy! It is you!’

  ‘He is a magnificent horse, to be sure,’ remarked a sonorous voice – the voice of the white man William had seen in the forest just prior to the decimation of the expedition. ‘Don’t worry young cub,’ the man continued, ‘he has been very well looked after these past few days! He is healthier than ever, and happier too, I suspect, now that he can feel your touch again.’

  The man studied William keenly, looking him up and down with the probing, analytical gaze of a surgeon, his piercing eyes narrowed with attentiveness.

  ‘Tell me, how are you feeling at this moment?’ he asked. ‘Are there aches? Pains? Nausea?’

  ‘I’m in pain, yes sir. But no’ as bad as it was before, sir.’

  The man chuckled before replying.

  ‘There’s no need for this “sir”, business. You’re not in the army, although I suspect you were once, were you not?’

  William nodded.

  ‘17th Lancers, British Army, sir.’

  ‘No more “sir”, please. You may call myself and these other good people “guru ji”, if you feel that you absolutely must use titles of respect,’ the man insisted, his tone warm and friendly.

  ‘Oh, yes, si-, I mean, guru ji.’

  ‘So you were in the 17th Lancers, were you? The “Death or Glory Boys” is the nickname attached to that particular regiment, yes?’

  The man’s accent was strange; his English was clear, yet it was tinged with some sort of vague foreignness.

  ‘Aye,’ William answered. ‘I fought in the Crimean War wi’ them. I charged wi’ the Light Brigade at the Battle ay Balaclava.’

  ‘Ah, then you and your comrades have been immortalised in verse!’ the man exclaimed, grinning broadly, with kindness sparkling in his eyes.

  ‘We have, guru ji?’ William asked, surprised. ‘I dunnae—’

  ‘Hush, cub. One of your nation’s poets, Lord Tennyson, composed quite a stirring poem about your brigade’s courage. I will read it to you sometime … but not now. Now you need rest. We will talk of these things, and many others, when we reach our destination, and when you have recovered sufficiently from your injuries to begin your studies and training.’

  William suddenly remembered the enormous lion, evidently the pet – or rather, the attack dog, it seemed – of one of these people, and with a gush of terror the recollection of being pursued and mauled by the beast came rushing to the fore of his consciousness. The blood drained from his cheeks, and his breathing became rapid and panicked.

  ‘Tha’ huge bleedin’ lion,’ he gasped, his voice cracking with fear as his terror-dilated pupils darted from side to side, ‘where is it, where is it?!’

  The man laid a reassuring hand on William’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

  ‘Don’t worry. The lion is not nearly as fierce as you may think. He’ll not attack you again, I assure you of that.’

  The thin Indian man then came sauntering over to William. He knelt down, cupping a steaming mug containing some sort of herbal tea in his hands.

  ‘Drink this, come on!’ he urged. ‘It might not taste too good, but it will do wonders for your health and chakras. It will also help you to get some peaceful rest. Come, drink it down, all of it now!’

  The Indian man, who seemed to be perpetually cheerful and smiling, arced the corners of his mouth upwards and chuckled as he held the mug up to William’s lips. He drank the liquid, its pungent aroma and bitter taste coming as a bit of a shock to his tongue. However, as soon as it went down his gullet it began to spread a calming warmth throughout his body, so he did as he was told and finished the whole mug. The Indian man, ever joyful, ruffled William’s hair playfully and then stood up.

  ‘Good boy! You’ll feel better now … and sleepy, very sleepy.’

  ‘Thank you guru ji,’ William said.

  He did indeed feel the veil of sleep being draped gently over his body as the warmth of the drink spread throughout his body, right to the ends of each of his extremities. Its effects felt similar to those of the opium to which he was so hopelessly addicted, yet somehow it felt far cleaner and less muddling in his head than that particular substance. Indeed, with this substance trickling through his bloodstream he began to experience a sharp mental clarity, despite swimming in warm oblivion. He closed his eyes, heard the music of the forest around him beginning to diminish in volume, and then sank into a deep and restful slumber.

  ***

  When William woke next, he was drenched with sweat, his muscles were taut, and his limbs were trembling; once again he had been ensnared in the claws of a terrifying nightmare. Gasping and shivering, he looked around frantically, at once confused and frightened, for he found himself in completely unfamiliar surroundings; he was in a small room, lying on a simple straw mattress, with a thin blanket covering him. Amber daylight and a chilly breeze eased their way in through an open window, the view from which featured nothing but a deep azure sky, flecked with streaks of incendiary clouds that were aflame with an impending sunset.

  Mounted on the wooden walls of the room were numerous scrolls and tapestries that displayed foreign and indecipherable writings, as well as highly stylized depictions of nature; waterfalls, mountains, streams and lakes, replete with all sorts of wildlife. On a rough desk in one corner, old tomes and manuscripts were neatly stacked, and folded up on a stool near the bed was a rough-spun green robe. Next to this were William’s possessions: his 17th Lancer’s uniform – which he had kept all this time, bundled up in his saddlebags – along with his few ragged items of civilian attire, and Andrew’s drawing of the four friends. Some items, however, were missing: his Winchester rifle, Captain Liversage’s sword and scabbard, and the wooden box containing the captain’s embalmed heart, which had also been in one of River King’s saddlebags.

  He heaved himself out of bed, noticing at once that he was nude and that his body had been washed and cleaned, as had his wounds – which, amazingly enough, seemed to have almost completely healed despite their severity. With a surge of panic and a fumbling hand he reached up to his neck, but when he felt that his precious portrait of Aurora was still there he exhaled a long sigh of relief and slumped his
shoulders, releasing the anxious tension from his muscles. Next to the bed was a clay pitcher filled with water, so he picked it up and took a long drink of the cool liquid to slake his parching thirst.

  Despite the disquietude that remained after the strange nightmare, William felt refreshed, healthy and strong. However, in spite of his physical wellness, he was mired in an emotional swamp of fear, worry and confusion, along with crushing disappointment. Bingham, it seemed, had been killed by these strange cultists and their wild beasts. Once again, as with Captain Liversage’s destroyed letter of promotion, an opportunity to further his station in life, and thus be one step closer to a future with Aurora, had been lost. And why? Why was he here, why had this happened? He needed answers.

  With a deep breath and a gush of determination he set the pitcher down and walked over to the window, hoping to get a better idea of where he was. As soon as he stepped up to it though, he gasped in shock and stumbled back, with a wash of fear coursing furiously through his veins, causing his legs to almost crumple beneath him. With his heart in his mouth he crept back to the window, gripping the sill with trembling fingers, and he gingerly peered out again, trying to confirm that what he had just seen was indeed reality.

  It was.

  Stretching out ahead of him to the very edge of the earth, where the planet’s subtle spherical curve was visible from this eagle’s eyrie, was a massive mountain range. Down below, a tiny ribbon of sparkling water snaked a passage through the bases of the gargantuan peaks and spires until it too vanished in the distance. Far to the east lay a bulbous green mass; an enormous forest. From up here though, the vast expanse of ancient trees simply looked like lumpy moss creeping up the rocky sides of the hills and mountains, many of which also seemed as mere piles of granite pebbles from this height. The real terror, however, came from below; with a dizzying and almost nauseating pull, gravity sucked William’s eyes down, down, down to the base of the cliff, which seemed to be an impossible distance away. The river flowed directly under his room, and it appeared that a person was swimming in it, yet from the height of this room their body seemed to be nothing but a fleck of dust, a grain of rice floating on a fire-tinged, hand-beaten mirror of brass, for that was how the surface of the water looked as it caught the setting sun.