–The Sons of Thunder–
The Son of Nepal
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any likeness to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental.
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Copyright
© 2015 Jeremiah Sylvester
All rights reserved
Contents
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1: Alone with my thoughts
CHAPTER 2: The caged bird escapes
CHAPTER 3: Here comes Mama!
CHAPTER 4: Into the nothingness
CHAPTER 5: The song of hope
CHAPTER 6: Johannan and Ayushi
CHAPTER 7: A spring of life
CHAPTER 8: Visions of red and gold
CHAPTER 9: Son of Nepal
CHAPTER 10: Speak, Johannan!
CHAPTER 11: A tone that breached the stillness
CHAPTER 12: I am the be all and end all!
CHAPTER 13: I call to you!
CHAPTER 14: A crown of stars
CHAPTER 15: Abduction in the wilderness
CHAPTER 16: A peculiar figure
CHAPTER 17: The stench of destruction
CHAPTER 18: Remembering him
CHAPTER 19: Stand to your feet!
CHAPTER 20: The sorcerer
CHAPTER 21: The Everplanes
CHAPTER 22: The request to chasten Europe
CHAPTER 23: Even the river bows down!
CHAPTER 24: Come, Mama!
CHAPTER 25: The Wandering Spirit
CHAPTER 26: The whisps
CHAPTER 27: A glimpse into the future
CHAPTER 28: My Ayushi
CHAPTER 29: The old traveller returns
CHAPTER 30: Back on the mountain
EPILOGUE
GLOSSARY
Acknowledgments
DEDICATION
Dedicated to my late grandmother Emerata Sylvester and my wonderful bundle of joy, little Miss Tigger aka
Shai-Lee Sylvester.
The first book of an author is like a companion through life. It has been there in my highs and many lows, has seen many come and go, and has been deleted twice by my mischievous ball of fur, Tigz. I never knew that cats could select all, delete, and save. Well . . . here’s to Tigz: without you, this book could have been completed a year earlier.
PROLOGUE
“State your case, Aliqxis!”
“Master, you promised that you will keep my people from harm. You promised me!”
“And have I not spared your people for the sake of that which was promised?”
“Wicked people have increased in the land, and Teki will have the case he needs to chasten the lands of Asia. The good will pay for the deeds of the unjust—unless something is done.”
“What is it that you are asking of me, Aliqxis?”
“Send one of the two sons that you promised to me and my people a thousand years ago. Send him that they may restore balance, or Teki will destroy my beloved people.”
“You have asked much of me.”
“Forgive me, my Master.”
“I have weighed the heart of a youngling in the lands to the south, one with your blood flowing through him. He will be the one, but he is not yet ready.”
“Master, if nothing is done soon, we will lose them all: men, women, and our children. Will you forfeit all for the sake of one?”
“Very well, Aliqxis, I shall hasten his destiny. I shall go into the land and afflict the youngling with a burden for the sake of your people. He will become a man of great sorrow and pain, at your request.”
“Yes, Master, this is the way it has to be.”
****
It was a fair morning as usual. A woman stood in the river washing her clothes with her little boy. From the sides of her eyes, she caught the ambling movement of the old traveller, the same one who visited two years ago. He wore a hat so wide that it sheltered the basket he carried on his back.
“You again!” said the woman.
“Oh?” reciprocated a deep tone. The old traveller chuckled, “How is the boy treating you?”
“He’s getting on well. We were just washing our clothes together. He seems to enjoy helping me—don’t you, son?” The little boy nodded, and the old traveller closed in and laughed, extending his arm to ruffle the boy’s hair.
“See, I told you he would settle down.”
The woman stood on the balls of her feet and angled herself to peep over his shoulder. “So, what have you got in the basket?”
“Someone special. She’s here to meet your little one.”
“So that’s it, you have brought me another child.”
As he was about to remove the basket from his back, the old man paused, “A blind girl. You do not want her?”
“Oh no, no! I will take care of her and treat her as my very own. The poor thing, where did you find her?”
“On a roadside, far from here—abandoned, of course. Plucked this little flower up from the ground and threw her into the basket of beans. We’ve been travelling companions for many weeks now.”
The woman expressed a confused demeanour. “But she’s such a pretty child, isn’t she? Why would . . .” She extended her hands to embrace the child. “Just give her to me. Me and Johannan will take good care of her, won’t we, Johannan?” The little boy smiled and nodded with enthusiasm.
“He seems quite excited about having a new playmate.”
“What is the child’s name?” said the woman.
“I’ve grown accustomed to the name Ayushi.” The traveller kneeled down to take the girl out of the basket. “Say hello, little Ayushi. This woman will be taking care of you from now on.” Ayushi gripped onto his forearms and remained quiet. The traveller chuckled, “Err, perhaps she needs more time. The two children are quite the set, they have some kind of special bond. You may not understand this, but it was the will of the heavens to bring her here. You three belong together for some reason of fate.”
“The will of the heavens? I’ve never heard of such things before,” said the woman.
“Yes, as soon as I picked her up, the wind began to blow in the direction of this village. You have to see it to understand: the grass, the trees, everything bending and pointing in this direction. And the moment I got here, it stopped.”
The woman repaid him with her most delightful smile, “Well, I will raise them as my very own. You can be sure of that, old traveller.”
The man’s wide sedge hat tilted up towards the sky. “I know you long for a family, but these two children are very different; they will not be like brother and sister. I can sense it—it seems to be the will of the heavens.”
“Let’s get her out of the basket. Come, Johannan, come and introduce yourself to Ayushi.”
Johannan walked over and took hold of Ayushi’s hand, and they both giggled. The woman clasped her hands in admiration. “Wonderful! They like each other.”
The old traveller swivelled to face them and caressed his bearded chin. “Perhaps she doesn’t need much time at all.”
The nearby trees began to clatter; the rapid movements of the woman’s eyes exposed that she was surprised. “That’s a very strong gust of wind. We don’t get winds like that round here.”
“See! Did I not tell you?” The man pointed to the sky. “It is the will of the
heavens. The sky is rejoicing that you are finally together. It could well be that the heavens have been waiting for this day to come.” He wagged his finger at her, “Great fortune I predict.”
He hoisted his basket onto his back. “Well, that’s my job done then. I shall be off.”
The woman laughed, “Just like that. You are a very mysterious old man.”
The Account of Johannan—1460
CHAPTER 1
Alone with my thoughts
High up in the Himalayas of Nepal, the whistling cries of the falcon proclaimed its dominion over the sky as it scanned the wilderness for food. The lands of Asia welcomed the heavens where the blend of delicate blues met the dapple greens of nature along the horizon. The coarse organic outlines of the great mountains, crowned with a diadem of sparkling white snow and a halo of clouds, were a symbol of benevolence from an almighty god.
The herds rested sound in the bosom of the hills not far from the winding serpent of crystal that crafted the afternoon river.
Charged with the protection of life, the vast moving islands of vapour shielded the eyes of the earth from the sun that demanded respect from those that gazed upon him.
There, high up in the Himalayas where the earth reached for the sky, was a free spirit. A wandering young man, an Ambassador of the Soburin, who scarcely was caught in the same place more than once. The young man went by the name of Johannan.
His eyes locked on the clusters of white clouds leisurely floating through the azure sky. The clean smell of crisp mountain air cooled his throat as it filled his lungs.
Weary from his travels, Johannan rested on a smooth rock while nibbling the stem of a length of grass. The towering blades of green and brown bowed before the majestic shrills of the upward drafts. He recalled his travels on the lands beneath, and how long it took him to climb to the summit. Places that took days to travel seemed only to be minutes away when he gazed into the everlasting greens of the lands below.
For hours, Johannan had been fixed in a tranquil state of mind, but the sudden noises of bashing hooves from the mountain goats clapping against the rocks broke a spell of stillness over him. He turned and saw a tribe of goats feeding on the wild grass as the young ones played with each other. The scene strummed on the strings of his memory, reminding him of all his childhood friends and all the loved ones and wonderful things he had left behind in his village. He could smell the warm, dense, spicy fragrances of dal bhat that Mama prepared, the hot wisps of vapours that escaped and filled the room when he broke into the skins of the unleavened bread that she baked. Johannan licked his lower lip; he could almost taste the memory. It had been a long time since he had tasted some good home cooking.
He longed for the days of waking up to the clapping echoes of Mama beating wet clothes against the river rocks. The noises annoyed him back then, but it was something he’d gladly welcome back. The simplicity of his life then was something he took for granted. Mama often warned about the comforts of love and the danger that lies in taking it for granted.
Johannan reminisced about Nanda, the storyteller, and Raman, the giggler who always found humour in his jokes. He remembered partaking with the mischievous Ketan in his silly antics. Ketan was always getting up to no good; he was remarkably skilled at aggravating his elderly father. He recalled a time Ketan decided to hide his father’s goats from him, and another scenario where he dyed his father’s chickens bright blue with the dye his mother used for cooking. He turned his head as if to focus more on another area of open sky, and he envisioned . . . her. He breathed in as much air as he could. She was the reason he was out here, far away from home, travelling the wilderness night and day. She was the reason he met him, the Soburin.
The vision was of a young, beautiful Asian woman sitting on a small wooden stool. His eyes opened wider with an expression of awe and his heart raced.
An upward gust of Himalayan glory covered him, the blade of grass he chewed on arched, and his long charcoal-toned hair loosely danced like a blown flame to the wails of the passing winds. He could see her long, black hair falling to her waist, a benevolent smile on her face. The subtle aroma of rose oils that Mama massaged into her skin filling the house with her presence. Despite the cool brushes of the wind, he could feel the waves of heat from his heart moving within him. He hugged himself, gripping his shoulders; he could almost feel her gentle embrace. Johannan stretched his hands to the sky as if to touch the vision of her with the tip of his finger. My beloved Ayushi, you mean so much to me, and I have been gone for years, so long. I wish my journey would come to an end, so I could be with you again.
He closed his eyes and gently placed his hands over his heart. When I return, your sight will be cured as he promised me, and we will get married as I have promised you since we were children playing by the riverside. Johannan stared at the goats playing with each other so blissfully, enjoying a freedom he longed for.
Even the wild animals are with their loved ones.
A deep sigh of sorrow escaped his lips, and a tear freed itself and swivelled down his cheek.
I wonder what she’s doing now. Probably home, outside playing away on that old flute I made for her when we were little.
He reminisced about how they used to play the flute together. Raman and the children of the village would dance to their cheerful melodies. He caught the escaped tear with the hem of his cloak. The wails of the winds fell to a silence. It would be the greatest manifestation of joy if my Ayushi could have her sight by our wedding day.
He remembered how he felt when he first met the Soburin—the excitement, the adventure, and the beginning of his greatest sorrow.
“I remember the day I left home,” he said just above a whisper.
CHAPTER 2
The caged bird escapes
It was the day it all began, when he took up another challenge to search for a cure for his beloved. His deep love for Ayushi burned ardently in his spirit. He couldn’t rest until this torment, this burning desire was quenched with the waters of fulfilment. He saw a vision of her sitting down and laughing with him, listening to his humorous adventures with Raman, Ketan, and Nanda. “Ayushi,” he said as the sorrow from missing such happiness burdened his heart.
“When—when will the Soburin lead me back home to you? It has been three long years already. I don’t know how much of this I can endure,” he said, adjusting himself to lay comfortably on a rock and tucking his hands under his head. He could see a group of bar-headed geese soaring around in tight circles upon the small gyres of wind. He knew what the gyrating wind was: the Master was present, watching over him, keeping the great promise he made that day.
Perhaps the Master is listening to me. Perhaps he may feel compassion if I just vent my feelings. Perhaps he’d let me go home.
Johannan opened his mouth and poured out his heart into the air, “Master, I feel so alone.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I miss her, and I can’t wait for the day when I can go back to her. I remembered the day you took me away years ago. To us, you were just a spirit that was last seen in the wilderness of Gobi, hundreds of years ago, but I dared to look for you—the only one who can cure my Ayushi. Please, Master, I miss my home.”
He stretched his hand to the sky, “Let me—let me return home to my family and friends.” His hand fell to cover his face as he began to weep. The responding silence made it feel as though his words were falling on deaf ears.
Johannan played it through his mind, fresh as the day it happened, the very moment he left her. He pictured himself talking to her and getting all his supplies ready. She was sitting down on the old wooden stool by the front of the door. “Ayushi, I have found a way that can cure your blindness. I was told that a spirit with great healing power was last seen in the deserts of Gobi near mainland China. I must go and seek him out.”
Ayushi just wanted Johannan to stay and not to worry about her so much. What if some sad fate befell him when he was away on one of his journeys to find th
is cure? Johannan was unshakably convinced that one day she will be cured from her horrible blindness. He couldn’t leave her like that, not even at her own request. Ayushi, being so used to her blindness, didn’t share the vision as passionately as Johannan did; after all, she was born blind. She never experienced what it was like to see. She couldn’t let him go, especially if it could cost him his life. She refused to imagine what it would be like to live without him, being in the world and knowing he was gone forever. The idea was so frightening, it was like standing on the edge of a crumbling precipice whilst peering into a bottomless abyss.
Johannan was driven by the picture that glowed so beautifully in his mind. The vision of them getting married and Ayushi being able to see. The whole village celebrating and throwing flowers over them on their wedding day. The loud sounds of banging drums and great, rich smells of roti, herbs, and dal. He imagined himself with Ayushi, breaking the roti and, as tradition stipulated, dipping it together in a single bowl. It was that vision that drove Johannan away from his home, to places he had never been before, to search for a cure. As long as it was there, haunting him, terrorising him, and burning ardently and infinitely in his heart, he could never settle down.
Just this thought alone caused his body, his mind, and his soul to unite and flow in one direction with one goal. There was no stopping him. He was getting ready to set out of the village, but not before they tearfully said goodbye to one another. Ayushi tightly embraced him, refusing to loosen her grip. He could feel her slim fingers gripping the midsection of his back and right shoulder. She rested her head against his chest. His clothes had just been washed and dried by Mama Jala on the riverside. She could smell the waters of the river on his cloak and hear the fast beating of his heart pumping away, ready to go on another quest.
If I let go, it will almost be like letting a caged bird escape; he may never return to me.
She couldn’t bear for him to leave again. There was the sudden appearance of a lump in her throat, a sudden strong sensation of discomfort in her body. She tried to swallow the shiftless lump before speaking, “Please—stay. Don’t go.” Her face glistened with tears—Johannan cringed at the idea of leaving her like this, but questions needing answers caused his face to tighten under tension.
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