“I can match him,” said Tien. “He must be matched. I see now that he doesn’t care about anything but himself…”
Justifying your incompetence…
“At first we were friends…”
Until you showed you were just like the rest of them.
“He will not let anyone match him,” interrupted Nockwe. “That’s the problem. You will never have an even fight.”
The chieftain is wise in this - and this only. A snake can tell a snake, I guess…
“Thank you for your loyalty,” said Nockwe. “It will be remembered, Tien.” Footsteps. Nockwe was trying to usher him out, but Tien would not go.
Fool.
“Chieftain, our tribe has not gone through the hunger in many seasons,” said Tien. “Water has been plentiful, and disease has not taken any of my family. Your reign has changed the lot of our people. Only a demon would challenge you, no man, because even if he’s stronger than you physically, you are the better ruler.”
Dook heard another wheezing cough.
“Promise me, Tien,” said Nockwe, “that you’ll not challenge Dook.”
“Nock-”
“Promise me!” Nockwe’ shouted.
“I promise.” Tien sounded subdued, but truthful. They exchanged farewells briefly and soon Tien left the hut to slink off to his own home.
That traitorous Tien! I’ll kill him in his sleep, the fool. What rule of Nockwe? Nockwe’s a self-serving, pompous weakling, a white-lover who kills the tribe with every day of his rule.
Dook hated Tien. He crouched pondering of ways to kill him slowly and agonizingly.
Before Dook left, he listened to the chieftain cough. He heard mucous come up, more coughing, and finally wheezing before the settling of hay. More coughing. It seemed that Nockwe had been fronting with his voice; that the simple physical exertion of his encounter with Tien had actually taken quite a toll.
Dook took note of this. He adjusted his plans accordingly.
12
Mahanta found Edward pacing near his throne. The guards told him that Edward was still up and hadn’t yet left the temple.
The priest was following the walls, absent-mindedly trailing his fingers along the bamboo reeds and straw.
Mahanta watched him for a while before finally joining him.
“I take it you haven’t decided,” said Mahanta.
Edward looked up at him, then returned his attention to the walls. He did not stop his pacing. “I have.”
Mahanta did not prompt but rather just kept walking alongside him. “Your mind is heavy.”
Edward did not acknowledge him.
Mahanta tried again. “It would be a difficult thing for a priest to do, what I ask. But you are not a priest, I think.”
“You read my journals, didn’t you?” asked Edward. It wasn’t really a question.
Mahanta was caught off-guard. In some ways Edward had a mind much more agile than his own. He would have to be careful with him. “Yes,” Mahanta fumbled, flat-footed. “A reasonable precaution, you understand.”
Mahanta studied Edward’s face. Edward’s nostrils flared slightly, and his cheeks reddened. He did not, however, stop his pacing. “A reasonable precaution,” echoed Edward stoically.
“You know, a priest would not join me, but a scientist, a scientist could,” said Mahanta.
“Or a traitor. Or a liar,” said Edward.
“My friend,” said Mahanta. “You are both a traitor and a liar already.” Edward did not respond, so Mahanta continued. “You are a traitor to yourself - a priest who gave up all his own desires and aptitudes to become one. You robbed yourself of your own life. You are already the greatest of traitors.”
“And a liar?” asked Edward, slightly amused.
“A liar because you keep the girl in your heart, though you’ve sworn celibacy. You are a most admirable liar and traitor.”
Edward pursed his lips to say something, but then held back.
“Yes?” asked Mahanta.
Edward changed the subject. “You trust me, Mahanta?”
“No.”
“What happens if I don’t like where this is going?”
“You’ll need to trust your own abilities,” said Mahanta
“You’ll try to kill me if I quit, if I disagree with you,” said Edward. Mahanta was again startled at both his foresight and his frankness.
“A matter of circumstances,” said Mahanta. “Certainly, though, if it seems you plan to leak knowledge of this substance, or imperil my own survival, well, you will be threatened. And I would only expect the same from you.”
Edward nodded. “I don’t trust you either,” said Edward.
“A solid foundation for friendship,” said Mahanta. He laughed. Edward didn’t. “Let’s put it this way. Are you really willing to just walk away now?”
Edward stopped his pacing. He locked eyes with Mahanta.
“I’m in, if you promise to tell me everything. No secrets,” said Edward.
“Naïve, Edward,” said Mahanta. “An empty promise from an Onge.” He sighed. “I promise to tell you what I tell you. I’m sure you’ll find out everything there is to know whether I tell you or not.”
Mahanta extended his hand to Edward. Edward accepted it. They shook.
“My god!”
The pair turned to face the source of the exclamation. It was Tomy, bursting through the entrance of the temple.
13
Tomy was thirteen years old. He was the messenger of the living god. In four years he would go through his trial, just as Mahanta had, but he would come out a man, not a child eternal.
Until then, he was a child in the eyes of the tribe, just like his master.
He remembered Manassa’s words every time he doubted himself. Manassa had a way of saying things so poetically.
You are a child like me. Do not slight my age with your doubts. I have said you can do it, so it can be done. It must be done. It is as I have foreseen.
You have the protection of your god’s foresight, and you are your god’s eyes and ears.
You will be remembered not for your might but for your brilliance, Tomy; not for your speeches but for your ability to hear.
You are my messenger, and you will not fail me.
Tomy would not fail his master, the Onge living god.
Manassa had fulfilled all the prophecies. Tomy was grateful to serve him. He was grateful to live in the most hopeful, prideful days of Onge history.
Tomy saw that Manassa was not alone in the temple. Manassa was speaking with the white man. Tomy stopped on a dime when he saw his lord had company. He almost tripped over himself.
Manassa beckoned. Tomy, with more decorum and no more shouting, walked to the pair.
I must remember the protocol. I must never speak unless recognized. I must never shout. Manassa might not care about my manners while it’s just the two of us, but I must always follow the protocols in company.
I must always follow the protocols anyway - never know who might be watching.
Tomy knelt and looked at the ground. He waited for Manassa to acknowledge him.
“Tomy,” said Manassa.
“My lord,” said Tomy.
“You have news.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, my lord,” said Tomy. He tried to slow his breathing. He hadn’t realized he’d gotten so worked up. In contrast, Manassa was emotionless, which somehow made it even more difficult for Tomy to calm himself.
Tomy looked up at the white man. He seemed disinterested, but he was not leaving.
Manassa answered his messenger’s unspoken question. “Edward Styles is on our side, Tomy. He has agreed to help us. You may speak to me in his presence.”
“Yes, master,” said Tomy. Still, he was suspicious.
Manassa continued addressing Tomy. “You wish to tell me that you’ve spied on Dook, and know he intends to make a move soon.”
Tomy’s jaw dropped. He refrained from asking, “How did you know?” A
ny knew the answer. Tomy tried to find words. “He--I watched him--he spied on Nockwe, my lord.”
“Yes,” said Manassa, nodding. “And you spied on him.”
“Tien went into Nockwe’s house. At first I thought he’d try to kill him. But Tien was warning Nockwe about Dook. All the while Dook listened at the window,” said Tomy quickly. He realized he’d started looking up at Manassa’s face, and again turned his gaze to the dirt floor of the temple.
“Yes,” said Manassa.
“There is more. Dook heard our chieftain coughing. Nockwe is ill, far worse than we’ve suspected. I think Dook knows, too. He may risk a challenge soon,” said Tomy.
“It won’t be any risk,” said Manassa. “Not to Dook. Not with Nockwe’s illness. Dook plans something, though. He would rather not challenge Nockwe directly. The chief is too popular. He is smart. He has something else in mind.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Search Dook’s hut.”
“I have, my lord,” said Tomy.
“And?”
“Poison,” said Tomy. “He’s stored up some special poisons. Nothing else out of the ordinary.”
“You have done well, Tomy. Though I fear there is nothing yet we can do to help our chieftain.”
“Surely, my lord, you are the living god. All things are possible,” said Tomy.
“So they are, my messenger, so they are.” Manassa crouched close to him. “But even I cannot stop the jungle flower from wilting, or add one more hour to the setting of the sun. Nockwe’s sun may very well be setting. We must prepare for all futures and so guide our own.”
“Yes, my lord.” The idea of Nockwe being killed saddened Tomy. Nockwe was a hero of the tribe. His people compared him to Le’ton, the savior of centuries past who led the tribe out of the Sickness.
“It will be a tragedy and a setback if Dook murders Nockwe. Nockwe is a great chieftain,” said Manassa.
Tomy momentarily toyed with the idea of murdering Dook. It was not beyond question. Yet Tomy had never taken another man’s life, and there were too many unknowns. He decided that he would do so only if his master wished it.
There were other matters, matters in town that he knew he could not talk about with the white man there. So he remained in his place and said no more.
“Who is Dook?” asked the white man.
“Dook is the man who tried to have you killed,” answered Manassa.
The white man looked directly at Manassa when he spoke to him. Tomy was afraid the white man might be punished for the sacrilege, but it didn’t seem Manassa cared at all. Tomy cared more than Manassa.
“And Tien is the one who tried to stab me?” asked Edward.
“Yes,” answered Manassa.
“Why can’t we warn Nockwe?” asked Edward.
“Nockwe already knows,” said Manassa. “And furthermore, once Dook makes his challenge, it will be up to Nockwe to survive. There is no way around the most basic laws of our tribe. Again, we must be ready.”
“For what?” asked Edward.
“We’ll discuss everything much further. The time has come for that. But suffice to say that if Nockwe is killed and Dook becomes chieftain, there will be no order in the tribe. My plans could be set back several months. I am a religious figure, not an administrator,” said Manassa.
Manassa turned to Tomy. “Furthermore,” Manassa continued, “Nockwe is a friend. He does not deserve to die. Tomy, you have my leave.”
Tomy looked up to Manassa. The god nodded. There was still much to discuss, but it could wait until the white man was otherwise disposed.
Tomy was learning many things under his master, not the least of which was that there were various degrees of friends.
14
“Look at that tree,” said Mahanta. “In the trance, you would know how many leaves flutter in its branches.”
In the morning, Mahanta had taken Edward to the “holy clearing.” The dawning sun bore through the thick mist of the jungle.
“Hmm,” said Edward, noncommittally.
“You will see. You will be in the trance again, soon, if you so wish. The thing to understand about this is that you already know how many leaves flutter in that tree,” continued Mahanta.
“Is that so?”
“If your mind did not know how many leaves were in the tree, it could not process them at all. How much harder do you think is it for your brain to capture the entire sensory message of that tree? A number is simple. And some people do it already - your medical texts call them idiot savants.”
Edward nodded grudgingly. “You must have read an older text - that’s an old name - but yes, to a smaller degree than counting the leaves on that tree, I’ll admit that’s true.”
“My theory is that the substance, the lleychta, which bring about the - the trance -”
“The nirvana effect,” interrupted Edward.
Mahanta stewed that one over. He nodded finally. “Yes, that’s a good English name for it, yes. The nirvana effect. So when a mind is under the…nirvana effect…it isn’t doing anything that it can’t already do. There are just certain abilities of the mind which are apparently repressed in everyday life. The drug seems to take away those repressions.”
“What’s been repressing it?” asked Edward. Mahanta’s lip curled slightly. “I’m just playing devil’s advocate.”
“Devil’s what?”
“Devil’s advocate. I’m just testing your theory,” explained Edward.
Mahanta nodded. “Well, devil, this god hasn’t taken his theory that far. And neither have your scientists, either. We could label it, call it subconscious barriers, call it what you will, but that would only be a label. I know of no structure to it, just an idea and my own experience. It just seems that there is a cap on my mind’s abilities, and whenever I am under the - the nirvana effect, that cap is lifted.”
“Well, I’ve certainly experienced that, too.”
“It seems there are certainly hidden portions of the mind that are under one’s full control during the trance.”
“Like the body control,” said Edward. “I was able to make my body heal, shut off pain. It even seemed I could experience my neurons to some degree.”
Mahanta nodded. “I’ve had the same experience. And are you able to control your other sense channels during the trance?”
Edward nodded. “I can hear farther.”
“And individual conversations in a crowd?” said Mahanta.
“It seems impossible, but yes,” said Edward.
“Well, your mind has always been perceiving it - your mind perceives every voice in a crowd. Why can’t it be aware of each voice?”
“It’s just impossible,” insisted Edward.
“Well, apparently it’s not. And I’ve been able to trace much phenomena of the nirvana effect to previously observed phenomena.”
“Like what?”
“There are cases on record of extended hearing, of near super-natural sight, of uncanny calculation. There are cases who have seen the exact future in their dreams - déjà vu - and who have accomplished physically impossible acts under moments of stress. It would seem hardly an assumption to postulate that the drug does not add mental abilities, but rather reveals them.”
Edward mulled it over. He could not help but notice how Mahanta had adapted to the style of communication found in Edward’s scientific texts. It was as though the native had absorbed the books. “It sounds like a correct assumption to me,” Edward finally said. “You see the future in the trance?”
Mahanta shrugged. “I can predict. It is akin to seeing. I am interested to see what you can do. Since I have been the only human being to experience the trance, I do not know if all such experiences are uniform. Your description of the trance matches mine to a large extent, but it may be that not all minds work the same.”
“That doesn’t sound particularly scientific,” said Edward.
“Just an observation. Observation is absolute science. We can only draw conclus
ions once we have more observation,” said Mahanta. The Onge sat on the grass near the giant tree in the clearing.
“Time slowing down?” asked Edward, as though the question rushed out before he could even formulate it into a complete thought.
“I don’t know why,” said Mahanta simply.
“I thought that perhaps it’s just the effect of so much more sense data coming into the brain. Things appear to be moving more slowly when in actual fact time is clipping along at normal speed.”
Mahanta nodded. “I thought something on the same order.”
“So what is your plan?” asked Edward, taking his seat.
“Much of it is planned, but much of it isn’t. I wish to go West. I want to leave this place. I want to eventually announce my discovery, in a place and time that will not result in destruction. I will do so in a way that benefits me, my tribe, and all humanity. I will be no martyr to science. In your history books, science has more martyrs than religion, it seems.”
Edward nodded. Mahanta’s plans seemed reasonable. “And what is in store for me?” he asked.
“Having tasted it, you have a right to the lleychta as much as I do. You’ll be able to set your own destiny, and we may or may not remain friends in the end. For now we are friends, and we will help one another.”
Edward observed from an anthropological viewpoint how pragmatic the Onge really were about matters of alliance and survival. The only assurance of honesty and loyalty from an Onge was strength. It was a game Edward had never played, but saw that he would quickly need to learn.
“Why all this ‘god’ stuff?” asked Edward.
Mahanta nodded as though he’d been awaiting the question. “Power. Control. Influence. I need it all. Religion is the only way I’ll be able to alter the culture of my people. I will modernize my tribe by gaining enough influence to reinterpret the oral tradition that so far has kept us bound to the mud.”
Edward’s priest side objected on moral grounds to Mahanta’s abuse of religion. The scholarly side could not help but agree with him, though.
“I know what you are thinking,” said Mahanta. He laughed. “You are thinking, ‘This young man is not a god.’”
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