Nirvana Effect

by Craig Gehring

  The skiffs responded to the light, interrupting the silent night with the abrupt roar of their engines. Edward was taken by surprise at the sound. He’d expected the Onge to have oars, not motors.

  “What the hell is going on?” Seacrest asked.

  “They’re moving. They’re going mainland.”

  “The whole tribe?”

  “The whole tribe. I don’t think anyone in Sri Lanka will know, though. It’ll look like the whole tribe deserted their village and disappeared.”

  “What do you mean? They’re a bunch of primitives. Where will they go?”

  Edward left Seacrest’s question unanswered.

  I rushed Manassa. I forced his hand. He would have waited for them all to be schooled. It would have taken another two weeks or more. It was a small victory for Edward, but he knew Manassa was adapting to his threat. Manassa would not let such a bump in the road as Edward stop him. Manassa’s reaction, though, told Edward that the god took him seriously.

  “What are we going to do?” asked Seacrest. His voice quavered a bit.

  “Callista’s with them,” said Edward, as though that answered the question.

  “There must be a thousand of ‘em,” said Seacrest.

  “Yeah, at least a thousand.”

  Seacrest’s silence arrested Edward’s attention. He turned from watching the advancing villagers. “What are you gonna do?” Seacrest asked. “Shoot ‘em all in the bloody head?”

  Edward opened his mouth to answer, but stopped as he caught a flash of motion in his periphery. He whipped his head around.

  A face hovering over a bush. Wide eyes. A tube in his mouth. A dart.

  The dart was practically floating in the air towards Edward. His own body felt sluggish and unresponsive. He was trying to make it drop but it was moving so painfully slow.

  The trance. He was trancing without the drug. The danger? He didn’t know why. He didn’t have time to analyze it. He was trying to make his body drop under the path of that dart.

  If I just swing around…He rotated. The dart passed. His hit the ground jarringly. He lost his concentration. The world sped fast. He heard the whiz of another dart and Seacrest’s body hit the ground. Edward tried to pull himself up but the next dart hit his neck and he was out.

  68

  Edward woke up with Tomy peering over him. The boy looked tired but victorious. Edward tried to scramble away, but he was tied.

  A club came down on his head. He didn’t go unconscious, but feigned it. There was no advantage in putting up a fight here. The Onge would simply club him in the head until he was dead. He made his body limp and unresponsive, despite the sickening waves of pain emanating from his crown.

  He felt an Onge pick him up.

  “The other?” asked Tomy.

  “I have him,” said another Onge voice. Edward kept his eyes closed. Manassa out-guessed me. He must have posted sentries around the harbor, waiting for Edward to show. Edward wanted to hit himself. He might have spotted the trap had he been trancing and not so damn tired.

  The Onge lifted Edward’s limp form over his shoulders. Edward waited for an opportune moment where the Onge’s guard might be down. There was no such moment. They hauled him into a truck and further bound his hands and feet. He didn’t dare open his eyes. He didn’t want his skull bashed in.

  “Bring him to the bonfire,” instructed Tomy. “I will soon join you. Hurry, now.”

  Edward heard the tailgate slam shut. A radio chattered from the front seat. He didn’t recognize the dialect. Some kind of code.

  He almost rolled as the truck accelerated. He had to force himself to stay slack and not resist the motion. The firm hands of Onge gripped him and kept him from shifting around too much. He knew they wanted their prize relatively intact when they presented him to their god.

  He heard another truck’s engine pull up as they sped along.

  “Is that the white man?” It was one of the leaders of an Onge clan. Edward recognized his voice.

  “Yes. We’re bringing him to Manassa.”

  “I must have his blood,” yelled the man. “He killed my brother last night and stole his jeep. Stop the truck!”

  Edward forced himself to remain motionless. Every part of him wanted to leap up and plunge over the side of the truck bed. He knew there was not a chance the Onge would allow him to escape. The Onge had the lightness and sheer numbers, and those factors were more than enough to contain Edward.

  “No, brother. His blood is for Manassa,” yelled the driver.

  Edward heard the click of a gun from the other truck. “Stop the truck now. It is my honor.”

  Edward heard another click, this time from the cab in front of him. “Back down,” screamed the driver. “It is not worth the anger of Manassa. This white man will die soon enough.”

  Edward’s mind whirred, figuring on an escape plan. His legs were tied, his hands tied, all quite efficiently. He tested them out. They had no give. There was no escape plan.

  “I will remember this, Jurdan. You will get what is destined for you!” shouted the intruder. Edward heard the other truck pull off.

  After about half an hour, the truck’s tires started to crunch on what sounded like gravel. Edward could hear the lap of the surf against the shore. The beach.

  Once they stopped, an Onge pulled him off the truck and lowered him to the ground. The pebbles felt cool and rough. He kept his body limp even as the beach dug into his face.

  Edward listened. They had turned off the truck’s engine, so it was an easier job. Not too far away, he heard the mutterings of a crowd, their words indistinct but definitely Onge. Another truck was noisily pulling up from behind him. Under the sounds of the ocean kissing the island and the hub-bub of the villagers was the constant breath and the sporadic crackle of the bonfire.

  He heard something else: the light tap of footsteps that told him another Onge was approaching him. He almost risked opening his eyes, but resisted the urge. He felt a syringe burn into his arm, then stop quickly.

  The lighter footsteps…Tomy…

  He was almost certain it was. Had he given him the trance drug? No.

  Poison…

  Edward popped his eyes open. Tomy was looking past him, toward the villagers, watching for watchers. Edward twisted his body so he could reach the medicine bottle in his pocket. He twisted off the cap in one smooth motion and the t-pills scattered to the ground.

  Tomy reacted by trying to pull him away, trying to hit him, but Edward weighed more than Tomy and was so low to the ground. His arms and legs were still tied, but he was able gyrated until his mouth could reach one of the pills. He got it along with a few pebbles; he held them all under his tongue.

  Tomy got in a good blow to Edward’s head. Edward rolled with it, managing to get another handful of rocks and pills. Tomy kicked him in the gut. He kept rolling, shaking his hand until only a pill remained. He tucked it into the back of his pant waist and stopped his struggle. Tomy kicked him again for good measure, but it didn’t matter: Edward’s trance had already begun.

  He felt the poison in his body, foreign and deadly. He reacted instantly with his trance control, momentarily willing the circulation to stop in his right arm. Then he eased the circulation back, having his blood avoid the dangerous area as best he could. He was lucky Tomy had only stabbed his arm, rather than taking the time to inject it intravenous. Maybe he wanted Edward to last a while. Managing the poison took some attention, but Edward figured he would be fine so long as he was trancing. He felt the cells dying near the injection. Maybe the same drug used against Tien.

  Tomy gathered the t-pills off the ground and returned them to their bottle. He rustled through Edward’s pockets for any more surprises.

  “Bring him to Manassa,” said Tomy. A couple Onge got out of the truck cab and hefted Edward up by his arms. He couldn’t really walk with his legs tied but he bounced here and there to keep the weight off his shoulder blades.

  Dawn still hadn’t broken on t
he coast, but the Onge had erected their own sun on the beach. The bonfire was massive, framed of three whole tree trunks. Edward didn’t understand it. If he were Manassa, he would do nothing to leave a trail. And yet here was a fire that burned bright as day. Its remains would serve as a marker for anyone attempting to track them.

  No one will try to track them. No one has a clue.

  The villagers were all watching him. They were turned from the fire and squinting and pointing at him. Above them all hovered Manassa, seated at an elevated throne on wooden stilts.

  As Edward was carried into the crowd, he couldn’t help but notice the Onge giving him a wide berth. They backed around and away as he was moved towards Manassa.

  The Onge dumped him face-first before the throne. He had to twist and take the blow on his shoulder to avoid gashing his face.

  He lay with his face in the dirt in an oval of Onge onlookers. There were hundreds of them, the whole tribe watching by the brilliant light of the bonfire. Warriors armed with guns formed a wall between the tribe and Edward. This was no tribal challenge. Edward was an enemy. There would be no chances taken.

  Manassa ceremoniously glided down the makeshift stairs of his throne. Edward took the moment to eye the crowd. Two pale faces caught his eye.

  Callista and Seacrest stood bound behind Manassa’s throne. Four huge Onge held them them, one posted at each elbow.

  Edward studied Callista. Her clothes were ripped. It was blood on her forehead when he caught glimpse of her at the warehouse, but that was dried now. He only glanced at her for a moment, but in the trance it may as well have been an eternity.

  He smiled at her. It was worth it to get this far.

  She’d be safe if it weren’t for me. She would be dead soon, too - or worse. That was quite clear from the way the Manassaa loomed over him. His smile evaporated.

  He looked for Nockwe. The chieftain was nowhere to be seen.

  “A pill,” mused Manassa. “I suppose you did something to it to make it work orally, purified it, perhaps? I know you’ve been trancing quite a bit in the past two days.”

  Edward needed to wrest control of the situation. That seemed impossible with hundreds of hostile Onge encircling, but he refused to play on Manassa’s terms. Manassa intended an execution for him, and Edward had to move to change the game.

  “No Jesuits? I didn’t think you’d come alone,” said Manassa.

  “Mahanta!” yelled Edward in Onge. The crowd hushed. All that could be heard was the lap of the ocean against the shore. It was too quiet, as though the air had been sucked out of the open space and all that was left was vacuum. “End this. You know as well as I do that the nectar will only destroy your people.”

  Manassa laughed. He would milk this public appearance. It was clear to Edward that if he was willing to create a spectacle, Manassa would gladly take the opportunity. “You live in the past, my traitorous white servant. Mahanta is dead. I no longer inhabit such a corporal form. And the nectar - you are a snake who speaks lies with forked tongue to send my people to their death. You care for nothing but your white men, as you have proven with your treachery. Your word means nothing. You have taken the blood of my people, white man. And you have even tried to steal my powers. For that you must die.”

  Edward looked once more at Callista. She didn’t look frightened, but rather, determined.

  He drew on her strength.

  “I CHALLENGE YOU, MANASSA!” Edward shouted with all his might. The ground muffled his mouth. He wasn’t able to pull his head all the way up. Still, the tribe heard. There was murmuring, and then silence. “You are a liar,” said Edward, adopting the cadence that he’d seen Nockwe use so many times with the Onge crowds, “and only Mahanta, a little boy afraid of a white man.”

  “Kill him, Manassa!” shouted someone in the crowd. The rest of the crowd joined in the yelling.

  One of the inner circle stepped up and whispered in Manassa’s ear. Edward could make out what was said by his lips. “There is no need to take a challenge from him. He is not a member of the tribe.”

  Manassa looked at Edward, then checked out the crowd. It was the same look he’d had while sparring with the panther as he waited for an audience to build. He’s building his mythos. He won’t pass this up.

  “I challenge you, servant, once my champion!” proclaimed Manassa. “Your people shall come to learn the Onge rule!” And in Latin, Manassa said quietly, “Edward, you are a fool. You are dying. You may be in trance now, but that will soon wear out, and when it does, that poison will kill you. I will keep you in trance, and help you, I’ll even give you the antidote, if you will just show me what you did to make the pill.”

  “I WILL CRUSH YOU!” answered Edward in Onge, non sequiter. The crowd was taken aback. Here was a white man with quite a bark.

  Edward strained against the bindings. He felt his muscles almost pull. The ropes loosened slightly and he wiggled free. He sprang up at the ready on his own two feet.

  The poison was still just in his right arm, making it feel a bit too heavy. He wouldn’t be able to contain it as well while he fought.

  Edward steadied himself. He felt dizzy. Tomy had given him quite a blow to his head.

  Edward saw a knife flit out of Manassa’s belt. He almost didn’t see the gun. In one smooth motion, Manassa pulled a pistol to his hip and fired. The bullet slid out of the barrel. Edward whipped his body to the right instantaneously and the shot whizzed past and buried into the truck behind him.

  He saw Manassa shoot again. Edward rolled forward and the bullet passed overhead. Manassa kept firing. Edward leaped out of his roll, flying over the third shot. His eyes were locked with Manassa’s. He knew the timing of the god’s shooting by the tensing of his muscles. Edward was only a few yards away, now.

  Manassa aimed the gun at Edward’s torso. Edward slid in reaction, but Manassa waited to shoot until after Edward committed. Edward twisted sideways but the bullet nicked his arm. He felt the poison start spreading again as his body adjusted to the shock of impact.

  Edward hammered Manassa’s gun hand and sent the weapon flying. He followed up with a high kick, which Manassa took in the jaw. Manassa reeled back and lost his footing, slamming into the ground. The villagers gasped.

  “The white man is a god…a devil…he is a Christian devil…he might kill our god…we must stop him…we cannot stop the challenge…don’t do anything.” In his peripheral vision, he saw an Onge train his gun on Edward. Still, he did not fire. He would honor the challenge, for now. Once it was over, however, it would be free reign to slaughter the whites.

  Edward caught Callista’s gaze again. She had not wavered. He caught no sadness on her face. She looked tense but determined. She had not given up.

  Manassa launched himself back to his feet with snakelike precision. He charged Edward with his knife. Edward waited for him to slash, blocking Manassa’s strike by slamming his knife wrist with his fist.

  Manassa didn’t let go this time. He jabbed at Edward, who dodged Manassa deftly and then got hold of his wrist. He violently twisted the Onge’s arm. The knife fell to the ground. Edward followed up with a body throw, sending Manassa flying. Edward jumped to land on Manassa with his knees and fist, but Manassa rolled out from under him before he hit the ground and pulled away.

  The poison was moving, now. Edward couldn’t stop it, not with his heart rate up, not with needing to use his right arm.

  The limb felt heavy and numb. I’ve got to take him out quickly. Edward remembered Nockwe’s duel with Dook. Nockwe had tried to eliminate Dook in the first minutes.

  Manassa knows I’ll try the same thing.

  Edward lunged for the knife. Manassa grabbed him and tried to throw him. Edward grappled him and reversed the throw, sending Manassa back down to the ground.

  Manassa pulled himself up, but Edward was right there with punch after hook. Manassa was unable to block all the blows and took a few to the face. He dropped again.

  The crowd was in an upr
oar.

  Manassa took back the initiative, throwing an upper cut from the ground. Edward tried to block, but there was so much force behind it that Manassa still managed to get the blow to Edward’s jaw. Edward reeled back, blocking as Manassa followed with blow after blow. Gradually Manassa started getting in licks on Edward’s right side. Punch, block, kick, block. Edward’s arms and shins started aching. He shut off the pain. He knew Manassa had the same level of pain tolerance. Edward knew he’d have to practically decapitate Manassa to stop him while in trance.

  Edward’s right arm grew useless. More blows got through his defenses. Manassa’s fists came faster and faster. Each hit was punishing. Manassa had a lot more muscle than Edward. He broke Edward’s nose. Blood dripped everywhere.

  Edward realized too late that Manassa had been positioning him. In an impossible move, Manassa punched twice, kicked twice, and then somersaulted backwards, picking up the dropped knife as he flew. From there he launched with his fists flying. Edward had to block the left hand with the dagger, which left the right to jolt him down to the ground.

  He could not see Mahanta, only the gravel, but he saw the future. It had a knife through his back, puncturing his heart.

  Only, instead, he heard a familiar voice.

  “At’tan! At’tan!”

  69

  Where is Bri? Nockwe first looked for his wife when he reached the encampment. He feared for his family’s safety first and foremost. She was in a crowd - the whole village was gathered in an oval. He watched them by the dawn light.

  He was alone. The car had broken down, so he had finished his trip by foot. He had run the whole way. The others were far behind him.

  He pushed through the mass of villagers and touched her elbow. “Where are the children?” he asked.

  “They are with their grandmother, farther from the coast,” she answered. Near the jungle. That was wise. There is great safety in the jungle.

  “What’s happening?” he asked.

  “Go to the front, quickly. Manassa fights the white man.”