by L. A. Banks
Damali noticed Rider had fallen quiet, and Mei had, too. Their hostess had sidled up to Monk Lin with a puzzled expression, seeming afraid that she had caused some offense.
“Rider,” Damali said quietly. “You okay, brother? The lady of the house thinks something’s wrong. Is it?”
Rider smiled sadly and looped the long leather thong over his head that held an old worn eagle feather, a piece of jade, a small turquoise stone, and a bag of magic dust that he’d never understood. He held it out to Monk Lin to give to Mei and bowed his head.
“Tell her this used to belong to my first wife…. Her name was Tara, and your people remind me so of her people, this should be yours.”
Monk Lin bowed and accepted the gift, spoke in soft tones that stilled the mirth in the tent, and passed the jewelry to Mei. To everyone’s surprise, tears instantly filled her large brown eyes. She clutched it to her breast as though Rider had given her a bag of diamonds. She made a gesture over her chest and then in the air toward his and looked down at the bag as her husbands drew near. Her voice was so soft and so sweet that tears filled Monk Lin’s eyes.
“She said, man with a good heart, you have come to the oracle. I cannot hide from you and your family. Old turquoise from the ancients has spiritual value that is without measure. Ask your questions. You are part of her family now. You have passed the test.”
Stunned silent, the group looked at Rider.
“What did she call me?” Rider whispered, his voice raw.
“Man with a good heart,” Monk Lin repeated.
Rider nodded and drew in a shaky breath. “That’s what she used to call me.”
Mei nodded, not requiring interpretation. She reached for Rider’s hands and then clasped them hard.
“Oh, my God—no!” Rider drew back quickly and was on his feet within seconds. “I’ve just poisoned her house. All of ’em, her husbands, the kids. Jesus Christ, this lady and her family didn’t deserve it!”
The team was paralyzed. Monk Lin was also on his feet in an instant and held his hands out for everyone to stay in place and remain as calm as possible. He spoke so quickly and frantically that no one in the tent moved. Mei clutched the bag Rider had given to her chest and smiled oddly. Slowly Monk Lin’s expression became one of stunned awe and he sat slowly with a thud.
“How do we fix this?” Damali said fast, her gaze ricocheting to Marlene then over to the monk.
“We can’t leave ’em like this,” Carlos said, his voice straining to stay even as his gaze bore into Monk Lin’s.
Mei held up her hand, her gaze gentle, and she patted the ground for Rider to return to the place before her.
“The damage is done, Rider,” Monk Lin said quietly. “Let her finish the divination, and then … I don’t know.”
Mei spoke softly to Rider, while Monk Lin interpreted. Strained gazes holding empathy settled on the woman as Rider simply hung his head.
“Your first wife is in a better place,” Monk Lin said quietly, waiting for Mei to speak in slow, calm tones. “You have a large family to care for, much yet to do, and she cannot go where you must … but her love lingers forever.”
Rider stood and walked out of the tent wiping his face. Carlos stood to go to him, but Mei held up her hand and spoke quickly, making Monk Lin nearly talk over her to keep up with her flurry of words.
“The spirits will heal him, but you, too, are a man with a good heart. It is different. The spirits are guiding you. What was sickness in you has passed. There were two of you; one side dark, one side light. The Naksong had to be sure of this before teaching you,” Monk Lin said, stopping as Mei stared at Damali. “You have lost a child, but it was sick. You will have many in days to come, but not today. Be patient. Be as one. Fight as one. Help fill the tent with goodness and love. The Naksong is ready for you now, because you are ready for the Naksong. My third husband will show you the way.”
“But the contagion,” Damali whispered, her eyes brimming with tears of compassion. “You have to tell her, Monk Lin. We never meant for this to happen.”
Mei sighed and stood, making all eyes follow her as she spoke in a very calm voice and walked deeper into the tent.
“She says you have the tears of an angel,” Monk Lin said, his voice hitching with emotion. “May they fall upon you at the Roof of Heaven and never hit the ground.”
“Tell her,” Damali said, choked up, “that I wish I could find them so I could spread them to save her family and mine … everybody’s, really. Just tell her how sorry we are.” She looked at Monk Lin. “She’s an oracle and knows her family is infected, doesn’t she?”
“Yes,” Monk Lin said, tears shining in his eyes. “She knows and is unafraid. The people here are very philosophical about the whims of fate.”
“It’s not right, though,” Carlos said, swallowing hard and standing. The walls of the tent were closing in on him, and he knew Rider was about ready to pitch himself off the edge of any given cliff. “Tell her we’ll all pray for her family, and go do what we’ve gotta do to keep them whole … Tell her, man, that I’d open a vein if I could, if I had silver in it, anything to reverse what just went down.”
Mei turned and looked at Carlos and pointed to his eyes.
Berkfield nodded and stood. “I’d open one, too, for this family. I got kids …” he shook his head as the Guardians slowly stood. “Any of us would do that.”
Mei murmured softly and closed her eyes.
“She says you have the eyes of compassion and good now. There is no more evil within you,” Monk Lin said to Carlos. “Your eyes hold silver, their sacred metal.” He waited until Mei had spoken again. “She said your brother has the sacred in his veins, and your mother-seer has the salt of sages. Your mate has cried many tears of heartbreak and worry … now she will give her tears to replace that.”
“Aw, man,” Carlos said, rubbing his jaw, unable to look at the family they’d polluted.
Rider stood at the door of the tent. “I’m so sorry, lady.”
But Damali slowly broke away from the group and went to Mei. “What did you say?”
Mei held out a small silver container no larger than a pillbox covered in coral and turquoise. Monk Lin rushed over and nearly swooned.
“The tears from Heaven.”
The members of the team shared confused glances.
Hot tears streamed down Damali’s face. “She said in the greatest temple of all …” Damali pointed to the tent door. “Not a man-made structure, but these majestic mountains created by God. That’s the most spectacular temple.”
Mei nodded and folded the box into Damali’s palm, and began speaking quickly.
“Make the antidote,” Monk Lin breathed out in a rush. “The tears, the Red Sea salt from Marlene’s bag—held by the salt of the earth, wise team mother. Berkfield, get a blade and nick yourself. Do it now, in this tent, heal the team, then this family.”
Mei nodded as everyone crushed together to gather around Damali and Mei.
“She had to be sure first that whatever was in Carlos was no longer there. His call for prayer did it. Damali’s tears of compassion confirmed it, and they were lead there with a man with a good heart and nothing left to give but his heart … and he did—Rider. That was the test, and she’d been waiting for a sign.”
The group dropped down on the dirt floor and formed a circle while Damali carefully uncapped the delicate container. A thin layer of white substance like confectioners’ sugar, barely covered the bottom of the quarter-size silver box. She looked up confused.
“There’s so little, just enough to maybe do the people in this tent once we add the other elements—but the whole world out there needs the antidote. How will the Covenant get it out to cure everyone else who has been infected?”
“The antidote was for you so that you could complete the mission that will cure the others, once the dark energies are sealed away and the names released from the book,” Monk Lin said, his tone awed and reverent. “They overturned temp
les and pillaged sacred places looking for this rare element, never seeking the humblest of herders, and a female who resided within the greatest temple of all.”
He closed his eyes. “Profound and ironic, but so obvious that a shepherd family should be the keepers of this sacrament … people with grace, humility, ordinary weapons, compassion, hospitality, and love enough to even share one another without struggles, so that no man in their group should suffer. This is why the Naksong would not touch you or teach you to find the Chairman’s lair until this was learned and the antidote discovered and administered—not even the Covenant could have foretold this. It all depended upon the choices and statements each of you made as one. You all revealed your inner hearts, your willingness to selflessly give what you each had to protect people you didn’t know, Mei’s family, and did so within her inner sanctuary, the oracle’s home. The man with a good heart, Rider, led the way when he parted with magic that covered his heart and had helped him for decades.” He bowed where he sat. “I have learned much this day myself.”
“Very, deep,” Marlene whispered. She looked at Damali. “Do you know the formula, baby?”
Damali nodded and swallowed hard. “Yes, my angel-mother told me.”
The group filed out of the tent anointed and considerably sobered. They accepted bits of prayer cloth and tied them to their wrists and hair, anyplace that they would remain fastened. And they waited behind a sinewy young man, whose eyes blazed with an important mission within them. A small caravan of yak lumbered behind the group gently swaying with trunks of highly explosive ammo tied to their sides. Glances of concern were shielded beneath lowered hat brims as each Guardian mounted a horse and nudged the creature to follow husband number three.
Within an hour, one of Mei’s husbands held up his hand, calmly stopped, dismounted, and motioned for the others to do likewise. He spoke in an unfazed tone, and began to unhitch the harnesses on the burdened beasts.
“He says, from here, the yaks cannot pass. The horses have difficulty. It is not the normal grazing lands. But the Naksong is wise.”
To their horror, Mei’s husband dropped a trunk and wiped his hands on his coat.
Big Mike and Shabazz were off their mounts in seconds, going to help the man before he dropped another trunk. Carlos rounded a huge beast’s side with the other men, as Inez and Juanita covered their heads. Marjorie practically fell off her horse, and it whinnied and shied at the affront. Everybody quickly jumped down off the pony they were riding, and glanced around confused.
“He’s gonna just leave us here?” Damali couldn’t believe it as Mei’s third husband smiled, waved, and called to his animals to follow him in the direction they’d just come from.
“He says to take our possessions to the clearing, and it would be best to pitch a tent. Sometimes Naksongs can be fickle, and may decide to change their minds if the signs aren’t right.”
“Oh, my God,” Inez wailed, boxing the chilly temperatures away from her arms. “Monk Lin, tell him to stop playing out here!”
“Be cool, ’Nez,” Big Mike said, hoisting down a trunk with care.
Damali went to the top of the ridge. “There’s a fairly flat valley here, a pocket we can set up shop on,” she said, looking at the small expanse of green around them.
“Lord have mercy,” Marlene said with a deep sigh. “All right, folks, we know the drill. Mount up the equipment, we get it over the ridge and—”
“Leave it,” a crotchety voice ordered. “It is unnecessary at this juncture.”
The team whirred around and a small, wrinkled face popped out from behind a rock. For an elderly man, he moved down the rocks with unusual grace to stand before the team with his arms folded. “You are persistent. I suppose that has merit. At least you have been anointed and cleaned. Humph. Now I can work.”
No one moved a muscle as his beady little eyes surveyed the group.
“The first time I saw you, you were blind,” Carlos said, half-ready to draw a weapon, his nerves were so shot.
“Yesterday, so were you,” the old man said, and smiled. “Things change.”
“How do we know you’re Zang Ho?” Damali pulled a blade from her hip. “You looked different in the cave, your eyes—”
“You were using only one sense, your eyes. You will learn to use them all. You have been through many shocks, and you are each still purging the infection. In an hour, you will be yourselves. This is why I must work quickly with no arguments to test time or tempt fate.” He brushed past Damali and swiped her blade, then stood before Marlene and gave it to her.
Damali stared at her hand and then up at him. “How did you do that? I didn’t even feel you take it?”
The Naksong bowed and addressed the team. “Pitch a tent just over the ridge. I will collect you shortly. There is so much work to do, so little time; so many questions, so many answers.” He smoothed his long, white beard and closed his eyes, as though staving off complete annoyance. When he opened his eyes again, they had become cloudy, white cataracts once more, and he pointed a bony finger at Carlos and Damali. “You two. Follow me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Where are we going?” Damali called out, trying to keep up with the agile little old man.
“Hey, hold up. Why can’t we do whatever we gotta do with the team?” Carlos called out, also finding it difficult to follow the Naksong.
“You ask many questions,” Zang Ho said in an irate tone, while stomping on rocks as he climbed higher. “But you ask the wrong ones. You forget true wisdom, but remember what should be forgotten. You fight about nonsense, instead of picking wise battles. You have tested my patience, but you have not tested your own!”
He grunted and slipped over a frigid peak, and Damali and Carlos practically fell over it behind him, sliding down a steep, gravelly incline until they landed with a thud within another grassy knoll.
Thoroughly agitated, they stood, dusting themselves off. Zang Ho folded his arms over his chest and motioned with his chin toward a blanket and two swords lying on the ground near the edge of a cliff.
“Now, we begin,” he said.
Carlos and Damali perked up and followed him toward the weapons.
“Observe,” the Naksong master said, pointing toward wild sheep grazing in the crags. “It is rutting season, and the males will lock horns, but will not fall to their deaths—most times.”
The moment Carlos looked up, Zang Ho rabbit-slapped his face so quickly that his nose began to bleed.
“Yo, man!” Carlos shouted, blotting his nose with the back of his hand. “What was that for?”
“Suck it up and taste the blood. Salty, yes?”
Carlos’s eyes narrowed on the old man as Damali chuckled, but a swift pop to the back of her head made her hand go to the place where she’d been struck.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“Pick a weapon,” Zang Ho, said, motioning to the swords, “if you can.”
Carlos began walking toward the thick, yak-hair blanket that held two long blades. The moment he stepped forward, his feet went out from under him, and he was flat on his face on the ground. Fury roiled within him as he immediately jumped up and made a quick dash toward the blanket, but the blanket moved to the other side of the glen.
“Have I made my point?” Zang Ho asked, studying the sun as he pet his beard. “If you are not the weapon, an external one can always be taken away.”
Carlos held up both hands. “All right, all right. Point made.”
“You are still not asking me the right questions,” Zang Ho said, popping Carlos in the back of his head, without ever nearing him, and making him lurch forward.
“Cut it out, old man. I’m not playing.”
“Ah. You have temper. Good. Use it, but use it well.” The old man crouched low in a fighter’s stance.
“I’m not falling for that,” Carlos muttered. “Besides, if we connected, I’d—”
“Hurt me?” Zang Ho shook his head. “Because of appearances, y
ou have made dangerous assumptions.” Zang Ho walked away, and turned his back to Damali and Carlos. When he turned around, he became a svelte woman, his robes filling out to assume his new form. “If I were her,” he said, making them both squint as his voice remained crotchety, but so different from his body, “you might have other designs on this form than warfare.” He turned around slowly and became a snow lion, causing Damali and Carlos to jump back. “Or this might make you feel that victory would be impossible.” He returned to his original form.
“That is the smoothest shape-shift I’ve ever seen,” Carlos murmured. “In daylight, too?”
“Now we are making progress,” Zang Ho, said.
“You work with energies,” Damali said stepping forward. “You use the energy from the Light, like Neterus do.”
“That is how I acquired your small dagger,” the master said. “Now, when I tell you to fetch a weapon, do not waste time. Materialize it in your hand.”
Damali stared at the blanket, focusing hard. They’d tried to teach them this before, but it had been so hard to focus like that lately.
“No. Stop!” Zang Ho ordered. “That is kinetic energy. It requires you to move mass through the air, lift it, bring it to you, but during a battle, you must be one with the blade.” He stared at Carlos. “When you were in the shadow lands, did you have to will your teeth to become the dragon’s, or was that a reflex response to a sudden threat?”
“It was all reflex,” Carlos said, his voice containing more reverence. “That is profound.”
Zang Ho offered the couple a slight bow. “Before, they taught you to move objects. If a threat occurs, just like his dragon’s teeth would appear, a blade should be an extension of your hand, should grow from it. Whatever element is in the universe can fuse with your energy to become your energy. Take it, embrace it, be it.” He clapped his hands twice. “Again!”
Damali stood by Carlos’s side. Both closed their eyes and opened their hands, but no sword was in it when they opened their eyes.