by Jacob Whaler
Leo shifts his gaze around the room waiting for the answer to come to him. “Egypt?”
“That’s still Africa.”
“I give up. Never was good at geography.”
Matt stands up, walks to his backpack, kneels down and begins checking its contents. He turns back to look at Yarah, still asleep on a blanket on the floor next to the wall.
“Thailand,” he says. “The land of elephants and jungle.”
“And monkeys,” Leo says. “Sounds like fun.”
“But we’re not looking for fun. We need a Stone Holder who will agree to join us without a lot of convincing. Like you. Someone that will listen and believe. Someone that will—”
“Trust us?” Leo scratches his chin. “Then I say Canada. They’re nice people. Not stubborn. And they speak English.”
“I tend to agree about them being nice. The language won’t be much of a problem as long as I’ve got my jax translator. But the book says it’s the Northwest Territories of Canada. Inuit land. I’ve never met an Eskimo. They’re tough people, living up North in the snow and ice. Might be a hard sell to get them to join us.” He fans through the book again and stops. “Russia? No, doesn’t feel right.”
“What about Thailand?” Leo says. “You said it was the land of elephants and jungle. Nice and warm.”
“And friendly.” Matt finds the page in the book. “The Monkey. What could that possibly mean?”
“I don’t know, but I like the sound of it.”
Matt let’s his eyes drop down. The fear in his mind melts away. “Yes. It feels right.” He adjusts the straps on his backpack. “I say we go for it.”
Leo nods. “Works for me.”
They eat a quick breakfast of bread and papaya left over from the day before.
“Did you leave her a note?” Matt nods his head to the back of the house where Leo’s aunt is asleep.
“Yep. Just told her the gospel truth. I have to leave with you for a few days and not to worry.”
“Good,” Matt says. A random thought crosses his mind.
It may be more than a few days.
He opens the leather book to the page on Thailand, finds the numbers he’s looking for and puts them into his jax. “Based on these GPS coordinates, we’re going to an old Buddhist temple in the city of Lopburi. It’s called the Phra Prang Sam Yod shrine. And it’s famous for monkeys. Thousands of them running wild, stealing food, hats and jaxes from the tourists.” He shows Leo a video of the shrine on his holo screen.
“How do we find the Stone Holder?”
“The same way I found you,” Matt says. “Just go there and see what happens.”
They hear footsteps and voices outside the door. It sounds like five or six people.
“We have to go.” Matt stands in the middle of the room with his backpack slung over one shoulder. “Come next to me and hold on. I’ll jump us both there.”
Leo grabs his backpack and moves closer. “Have you ever done this before?” His hands reach up for Matt’s arm.
“Sure,” Matt says. “I’m an old pro. Hold on and don’t let go.”
“Ready.” Leo closes his eyes.
Holding the Stone in his right hand, Matt concentrates on the GPS coordinates, just like before. He closes his eyes, and thinks about the map of Thailand. The GPS numbers repeat in his mind.
There is a soft knock on the door. Matt feels Leo’s grip on his arm tighten.
Something stirs behind them.
The old woman must be getting up, Matt thinks.
Butterflies move in his stomach. Just before the air flashes white around them, tiny fingers and arms wrap tightly around his leg.
CHAPTER 67
Another surge of energy floods Little John’s body. Like the sudden appearance of a tsunami, a wave of clarity crashes down upon him, forcing him into a heightened state of awareness. The waves come with predictable frequency, and he can anticipate with almost pinpoint accuracy the arrival of the next jolt.
With such an overabundance of concentration, his attention is drawn again to the single speck of light shining in the vast darkness.
He stares at it, focusing all his energy and emotion on it, willing it to come closer.
And it moves.
Almost imperceptibly, the dot increases in size. He keeps focusing on it as long as he can. When at last the pristine clarity begins to fade from his body like a receding tide, the dot has become many times as large.
It turns into a game. With each cycle of awareness, he draws the light closer.
In time, it becomes a star, and then a burning sun that dominates his field of vision. He can draw it no closer. Its heat sears his flesh but is a pleasant distraction from the surges of pain that pulse up and down his spine from the worm within his belly.
CHAPTER 68
They arrive in the middle of a pounding rainstorm.
Matt remembers the tiny fingers wrapping around his leg just before the jump and looks down to see Yarah. She is holding onto his knee with fierce determination, like a kitten that has found itself too high in a willow tree on a windy day.
Leo releases his grip on Matt’s arm and raises his face up to the sky. “Wow. You really did it. Incredible.” In spite of the rain, he has a broad grin.
“We’re not alone,” Matt says. “Someone hitched a ride.” His eyes drop down.
Following his eyes, Leo sees the stowaway. “Yarah, what are we going to do with you?” He pats her on the head.
She stares up into the warm rain, still holding on to Matt. Her whole body shakes with giggles as massive drops splash on her face.
“Can’t we just take her back?” Leo has to yell over the sound of the rain.
Matt shakes his head. “Too dangerous. Too much activity with the Stone could attract Ryzaard’s attention. We can’t risk it.” He takes the cloaking box out of his backpack and drops his Stone inside. And then he changes his mind and takes his Stone back out. “No telling who or what we might run into.”
Leo shakes his head. “What are we going to do with Yarah?”
“She comes with us.” Matt reaches down and lifts her up. She wraps her arms around his neck and lays her head on his shoulder. “First, we have to get out of the rain and find shelter.”
Multiple massive cone shapes rise above them in the darkness. A few meters away, a stone arch looks like a good place to find quick shelter from the rain. Matt runs to it. As he ducks under and out of the rain, he hears loud screeches and looks down.
A dozen knee-high monkeys gather at his heels, rain-drenched and looking up with suspicion at the looming stranger who is trying to take over their space.
Leo walks to the arch and sees the monkeys. He drops his hand down to touch the nearest one. In unison, they all jump back. Another wave of shrieking rises from their throats.
After settling down, one of the monkeys moves close to Matt, reaches a tentative hand out and touches the exposed skin on his bare shins. Matt instinctively kicks at the monkey, causing another round of chaos and noise. Within seconds, they settle down and gather back around Matt and Leo, wearing the faces of wary beggars.
Yarah stares at the little fellows, shorter and thinner than she. Eyes large with excitement, she begins shouting. “Macaco! Macaco!” Her grip around Matt’s thigh releases, and her small body pushes away.
Leo moves next to Matt. “Did I ever mention what Yarah’s favorite animal is?”
Matt rolls his eyes and gently pulls Yarah back. Through the darkness, he catches sight of a life-size Buddha statue on the other side of the courtyard. It’s sitting in the lotus position, staring ahead with a face void of expression, serene and confident.
A monkey rushes between Matt’s legs, its body and tail brushing his bare skin. He recoils back, momentarily taking his focus off Yarah.
Like an expert escape artist, she slips from his grasp, drops to the ground and runs into the middle of the monkey pack. They swarm around her, eye to eye, teeth and claws close to her face.
Yarah stands on the ground, hands on her hips, rain falling in sheets. The gray-haired animals form a perfect ring around her, keeping a respectful distance and looking down, as if bowing in the presence of the Buddha.
“What’s going on?” Matt says.
“I don’t know,” Leo says. “She’s always had a way with animals. Birds, dogs and cats mostly. They trust her.”
The largest of the monkeys moves forward cautiously, its fingers reaching. Yarah extends her own hand until the fingers meet. The monkey takes the offered hand and draws it close to its face.
Matt tenses, expecting the monkey to bare its fangs and sink them deep into the girl’s tender flesh.
But that doesn’t happen.
Instead, the monkey remains motionless while Yarah gently runs her fingers through the hair on its head. It turns its back to her as her fingers slowly run the length of its spine.
Matt watches, transfixed.
Out of the corner of his eyes, the Buddha statue at the far end of the courtyard slowly rises from the lotus position and steps down from its pedestal. It moves across the courtyard, coming closer. When it gets within two meters of the ring of monkeys, they scatter in all directions without the slightest sound.
Yarah stands her ground and turns to look at the dark figure.
It stops a few feet from the arch. Matt squints his eyes and sees that it’s a man with a clean-shaven head and an orange saffron robe draped over one shoulder. A Buddhist monk.
The monk stops at the side of Yarah and stares down at her.
Matt strains to see the features of his face, but the monk is as expressionless as the other statues in the courtyard.
Raising both hands in front of his chest, the monk presses his palms together and bows deeply to Yarah. He looks up at Matt and Leo, still standing under the arch, and bows to them, but with less depth. Returning his gaze to the girl, he bows one more time, then raises his body to an erect posture.
“Come with me, little one.” He holds out his hand.
Yarah touches the hand and laughs as she looks up through the pouring rain into the face of the stranger.
Then she releases her grip and runs to Matt under the arch. Pulling him out into the rain, she brings him to where the monk stands, his hand still outstretched. She reaches once again for the monk’s hand, and with the monk on one side and Matt on the other, they walk across the courtyard.
What am I doing? Matt thinks.
The group of three pass the stone pedestal where the Buddhist monk had been meditating. Yarah stops and throws a backward glance at Leo, still under the arch. She nods to him.
He sprints across the courtyard and falls in line behind them.
Together they walk down stone steps, following the lead of the monk, the four of them soaked to the bone.
CHAPTER 69
Jake falls backward onto the bed of the hotel room. The day’s travels and a belly full of pad thai and shrimp curry have left him with a need for sleep.
Rain falls hard in the darkness outside the window.
“Looks like we won’t be able to go to the temple grounds tonight.” Jake fakes a frown. “Too bad. I was really looking forward to venturing out in that rain.”
Kent is bent over his slate, fingers dancing on its glass screen. A black metal box lays open on the table next to him, and a monkey figurine stands like a silent guard a few inches away. He leans back and looks up to the ceiling. A long exhale slowly leaks out between his lips.
“I don’t believe it,” he says.
Jake looks up from the bed. “Believe what?”
“Remember that long grey hair we found in Little John’s metal box?”
“You mean the one you were about to throw away?”
“That’s the one.” Kent puts his hand into the box and draws it out, raising it up to the light. “Before we left, I sent a high-resolution scan of it off to a trusted source for detailed analysis. I just got the results back.” He stands up and walks across the floor to stare out the window at the rain.
Jake’s aviators look up from the bed. “What is it?”
Kent holds the long strand up in the air, letting it dangle from his fingers. “This, my friend, is not human. It’s the hair of a monkey’s tail. Macaca fascicularis, the exact species that inhabits the temple we’ve come to visit.” He sits down on the other bed, shaking his head.
“Weird result. But it means we’re on the right track.”
“Did Little John really expect someone to do a DNA analysis on the hair to figure out where it came from?” Kent shakes his head. “Isn’t that a little too tech-savvy for the people of the freedom camps?”
“The truth is, Little John always loved technology. You saw the secret jax he kept in his tent. No, I think he fully intended that hair to be one of the clues. And it looks like you’ve cracked it.” Jake pushes back his glasses, exposing the empty eye sockets. “But I don’t know how much it helps. I saw thousands of monkeys out there. All the same, as near as I can tell.”
“Let’s think about this. We have a monkey statue and a monkey hair.” Kent finds a chair and sits down. “GPS coordinates on the statue point to a Buddhist shrine overrun by monkeys. Everything points to—”
“Monkeys.” Jake rolls over with his back to the window. “At the risk of stating the obvious, it sounds to me like Little John is trying to tell us something.”
“Yep,” Kent says. “I get the message, Little John, loud and clear. Go talk to the monkeys.” He walks to the window and pulls the drapes shut. “In the morning, after we get some sleep.”
CHAPTER 70
Leo walks through the driving rain behind Matt and the monk, with Yarah in between. “Any idea where we’re going?” he says.
Matt turns his head. “Not a clue.”
After trudging along the side of a road for half an hour, they enter an area of low gray apartment buildings and open markets. The streets are empty except for the occasional motor scooter or luxury car. There isn’t much in between.
Leo’s voice drops to a whisper. “Do you think this guy speaks English? Or Portuguese?”
“I doubt it,” Matt says. “He’s been as silent as a rock this whole time.”
“I do,” says the monk.
Matt stops walking and holds on to Yarah’s hand, bringing the whole procession to a standstill. “Then where are you taking us?”
Not betraying the slightest hint of emotion, the monk looks straight ahead. “Why did you come?”
Matt returns an emotionless stare, water dripping off his chin. “Why do you ask?”
“The Monkey will want to know.”
Matt and Leo exchange glances.
“The Monkey?” Matt remembers the nickname in the little black book of Naganuma. “Who is the Monkey?”
The monk turns his head toward Matt, showing as much emotion as a robot. “Answer my question. Then I may answer yours.”
“We’re just here for a short visit,” Matt says. “To see the monkeys at the temple. We got caught in the rain, that’s all.”
“You did not answer my question.” The monk’s voice betrays an edge of irritability, the first trace of emotion. “I go to the temple to meditate. Always the same place. Every night for ten years.” The monk’s eyes focus intently on Matt. “The Monkey told me, in my dreams. Keep meditating. Keep watching. Someday they come. Today, I saw it. One minute the temple courtyard is empty, dark. The next minute, lights flash and you appear. From nowhere.”
Matt has a quick decision to make.
Should he trust this monk?
He glances at Leo, who understands Matt’s unspoken question and just shrugs his shoulders. Then he looks down at Yarah, still standing between him and the monk, holding both their hands, a bridge between them, happy and content.
&nbs
p; The innocence radiating from her face gives him courage.
The monk stares ahead, waiting for an answer, his thin saffron robes soaked through and sticking to his skin.
Matt lowers his voice to a whisper. “We have come for the Monkey’s Stone.”
The monk nods once, slowly, no smile on his face, but with an expression that betrays a hint of satisfaction at the answer. “Follow me.”
Ten minutes later, they turn sharply to the left off the sidewalk.
Matt glances around quickly, marking the spot in his mind. A Seven Eleven convenience store across the street makes it easy.
The monk walks ahead, leading them down a grassy path between rice paddies and into jungle depths. They follow him single file, Leo first, then Yarah, with Matt bringing up the rear. Here and there Matt catches glimpses of bare reddish ground where the lush carpet of ferns and flowers has worn thin. On either side, a wall of green leaves and twisted tree trunks encloses the path, forming a canopy over their heads. As the lightning flashes, the exposed root systems, twisting vines and dark trunks remind him of rotting corpses crawling out of the mud in an abandoned graveyard.
If he weren’t on such a serious mission, he could imagine having a lot of fun here.
The jungle opens up, and they find themselves walking the last hundred meters down a deeply-carved path to a large wooden structure.
The rain stops midway through the open field.
The monastery itself looks like a scaled-up version of a Japanese summer house. Matt estimates the building to be fifty meters on a side, three levels high, with a wide deck running its entire circumference on the lowest level. Topping it off is a ceramic tile roof that extends out to a sharp point on each corner.
Matt wonders how this classic Japanese structure has found its way to Thailand. And then he remembers that Naganuma’s little black book is proof that he has been here.
The four of them enter into a bright interior where they slip out of their muddy shoes and step up onto a wooden floor. Numerous monks, each with exactly the same shaven head and saffron robe, pass by going in all directions, oblivious to the monk escort and his three drenched companions.
