by Nicholas Lim
Was it twelve years ago? Those parched, fly-blown months full of corpses; he could still hear the muezzin in his dreams, calling to the faithful across bombed cities. He watched a trickle of water spill over the top of the makeshift dam; the thin vein, silvered by moonlight, escaped into the trees. In the desert, water was always beautiful. Here, the wood around him was thirsty, alive and drinking.
Small arms would do, and the plastic, and Sky. All back at the House. He began to climb up through the trees. The dam would hold a while yet.
Imagine you are riding the waves of your breaths. Breathe in…Out… In…Out…You are floating on the seas of sensation. Now imagine a coastline, cliffs in the distance. You see a sandy beach. Breathe in…Out…
You arrive on the beach. A path follows a stream inland. Take it. You walk under trees then come out into a valley. What do you see?
Skyler turned his head slightly. He saw what he always saw: a quilt of fields and orchards.
There are fields with sheep. Orchards. Flower meadows.
Skyler decided tomorrow he must make this journey in the flesh.
Continue on the path up into the valley.
The air came and went from him, fresh and warm, like new-made bread. He was filled with a sense of peace.
You reach the source of the stream where the water runs clear in pools that reflect the sky. You have arrived at the place of faith. You see sets of stone steps cut in the earth. They lead down into confusion and darkness. Choose.
He chose the path of Contemplation, as he always did.
Good. You have chosen well. There are candles. Light one.
Skyler smiled. The candle flame was yellow. It was always yellow.
You are in a maze with corridors branching in all directions. Follow the sequence of personal growth as you have been taught. Find your way through the darkness.
Skyler stared at his eyelids.
You stand in the Circle of the open secret, where the Unseen is made visible.
As above, as below.
This is where the central truth can be revealed to you. What do you see?”
Gudrun.
He studied her face with his mind’s eyes. He could remember every detail, hovering above him. The straight nose, flushed cheeks, curving open lips, a strand of blonde hair escaped from her plaits, and those blue eyes, so clear yet unreadable. She’d said she loved him! Was that true?
No. She didn’t. Not really. She just wanted to escape. She’d say anything.
But when she was with him, it seemed so much like she loved him! And she’d told him she did. Maybe she did.
She was interested in him. Last time, she had asked why he respected Arshu so much. He had begun to explain the teaching, the paths. He had told her that he was an Instructor. He had become embarrassed.
He thought again about teaching anything to those clear blue eyes and shivered. What was she doing at the moment? She was with her husband. Doing what? She said she didn’t love that man any more. Was that true?
He thought of his own wife given to him by Arshu. Obedient, a housewife, tending to his physical needs as the Rules dictated. Compared to Gudrun she was barely more than a dog.
He remembered Arshu’s lesson on sex. With all desire comes attachment and suffering. That is why control of the sexual impulse grants spiritual power.
Sex. It had been the cause of his only crises of faith. The first had come hearing the rumours of coercive sex with female novitiates, of hidden rooms in Arshu’s private apartments where the strictures of the ascetic life were loosed, lubricated with alcohol – drugs of all kinds – meats, sex and electronic entertainments. But he had discounted the gossip as malicious, motivated by spiritual jealousy.
The last crisis had come a year ago with the police. They had entered the Valley with a search warrant and taken two members of Asari by force, Derzelas and Eshmun, the crèche managers. The local health authority had prosecuted Eshmun with rape of minors and Derzelas for wilful medical neglect of children. “Your prayers should complement — not compete — with proper medical care,” the judge had told Derzelas at his sentencing hearing in Cardiff. Arshu had declared the secular authorities would repent their blasphemy. When Derzelas beat the charges and was moved to the crèche of another House, the rumours restarted.
If you notice your concentration has wandered, return to the breath…
Skyler heard a distant knock at a door.
…without reacting, without giving yourself a hard time. Breathe in...
“Hey Sky!”
The knock at the door repeated. Skyler ripped off his headphones and opened his eyes. The room snapped into focus. It was bare, monkish, with unvarnished wooden floorboards. There was a bed, a shelf of books propped up on bricks, a low table cluttered with smoking equipment. Through two windows the trees and fields of the Valley were visible, and halfway down the sky a horizon of blues where it met the sea.
“Sky! I hear you in there! Wanna do a bong?”
“No thanks.”
The door opened and a short, bull-chested man with close-cropped red hair walked in.
“Sure you do.”
Skyler turned sideways. “I’m busy right now, Kirt.”
Kirtananda studied him, head tilted to one side. His intense whitened eyes were close-set to his broad nose. He carried a small khaki knapsack over one shoulder. When he spoke, corded neck muscles moved inside a rainbow-coloured collar.
“Doin what?”
“Studying.”
“Yeah? Studying your feet?”
Skyler closed his eyes and took a breath deep into his diaphragm. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Hey! Don’t come all holy man with me. You forget I am sanyasin and a Head of House. Show some respect!”
Skyler opened his eyes to see what Kirtananda was doing. The man scared him.
“I got a tola of Rishi black.”
Skyler hesitated. Kirtananda opened his right hand. It held a brown, cling-wrapped stick of hash.
“Where’d’you get that?”
Kirtananda grinned and went over to the table. “Jeesus man, you got enough hubblies?”
Skyler prepared a pipe. Kirtananda let Skyler do most of the first bowl. They settled on the bare floor under the layers of smoke.
“Good?”
Skyler grinned. He rocked on an elbow, eyes closed.
“I got one last cake of it. You want it? Too heavy for me.”
“Yeah? Thanks man.”
“No worries.” Kirtananda scratched his chin. “Hey Sky, you’re okay you know?”
Skyler nodded.
“I can see why Arshu chose you. I hear you’ve been invited to take Sanyas.”
Skyler opened his eyes.
“Your faith is strong.”
Skyler struggled to a sitting position.
“He can sense that you know,” Kirtananda said.
“Yeah? I was surprised. I mean, I know it’s an honour. In the Hall, when he called us up in front of everyone I was surprised.”
“I know.”
“But then, everyone left and it was just you guys, and me. I–”
“Sure, it’s tough being left behind.”
“Yeah, but I don’t really understand – why me? I mean I’m not a doer. I’m not a fighter. Not like you, and Rayan, and the others. Don’t get me wrong, I'm not criticising. I understand the Path of Action. Remember I’m an Instructor. But it’s not me. It’s not my way.”
“You think you must only travel one path? Remember the Succession.” Kirtananda held Skyler with his white crossed eyes. “Arshu has been a warrior.”
“That's different! For his Master there was a war to fight.”
“There's always a war.” When Skyler reached for his pipe Kirtananda stopped him. “I need you to help me with something tonight.”
Skyler frowned.
“Don't worry. It's just a small job.”
“Job?” Skyler eyed Kirtananda nervously. “What sort of job?”
“Sikanda?” Skyler looked alarmed. “Just Sikanda?”
“Yes.” Kirtananda smiled. “You must carry on looking after his wife and child. They come with us when we go. It’s not time to leave yet.”
Kirtananda watched Skyler thinking. For a monk he sure thought slow.
“You like her don't you?”
“Arshu asked for this?”
“Looks like she likes you too. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Did he?”
“Sure.” Kirtananda took a pair of miniature cymbals out of a pocket. The clear note he struck sounded formal, as though ending an audience. Before it had faded Kirtananda stood. When Skyler looked up at him he said, “Come on.”
“Now?”
“Yes now.”
The forest was dark and too quiet. Skyler cursed Kirtananda. What the hell was the man up to?
When they had taken the scientist from the cell, Kirtananda had grinned at Skyler like it was just a game. Skyler had felt relieved. At least the man was acting like they were on the same side.
“Here. Take this.”
At first, Skyler had thought Kirtananda was passing him the promised hash cake. But hash wasn’t cold, wasn’t a heavy piece of metal.
“I'll go ahead with Sikanda. You watch my back. If he runs, shoot.”
“No, Kirt I–” Skyler had found it difficult to think after the pipe.
“Arshu was clear wasn’t he?” Kirtananda hissed. “He is your charge. He must not be allowed to escape.”
Skyler had kept quiet. He remembered the stories about Kirtananda. He believed them. The man ran gangs and dealers. What was he planning tonight? He remembered Arshu’s private words to him before he left: Sikanda, his family, they do not understand fully but they are part of our family now and they must stay with us – that is your responsibility.
He could see Kirtananda through the trees, pushing Sikanda on in front of him. Whenever Sikanda slowed, Kirtananda gave him a savage poke in the back. Skyler watched as the man cried out and stumbled. When he fell Kirtananda kicked him to his feet.
Skyler hung back. He gripped the gun in his hand. The weight of it was frightening. Kirtananda and Sikanda were walking faster now, up a gentle incline through thickening trees. Skyler looked down at his feet. They were wet. The ground was soaked with water. Why? He tried to clear his smoke-filled mind. He didn't understand. Everything was happening too fast. What should he do?
A cry came from up ahead.
“Sky!!”
Skyler began to run.
A dozen yards ahead, on the edge of a clearing, he could see the two men. Behind them, a pool of water, silvered by moonlight, lapped against a low wall of mud and stones. Sikanda was on his knees holding Kirtananda by the waist. Kirtananda was clubbing him. When Sikanda tried to stand Kirtananda spread his arms wide and gave a great shout.
“Waaaa!”
Sikanda ran. Kirtananda pointed his gun and fired. Sikanda ducked into the trees.
“Skyler! Shoot him! Shoot!”
Skyler stepped out from behind a tree directly in front of Sikanda. The running man screamed and veered away.
“Sky! Remember what Arshu said! Shoot him! NOW!”
Skyler thought of Gudrun. He raised his gun. He pulled the trigger. Sikanda fell. Stood up. Again Skyler pulled the trigger. The power of the recoil was shocking.
When Sikanda got up this time he didn’t run. He stood still, bent over a little, holding an arm against his side as though ashamed of something. A shot spun him around. Another pushed him back against a tree. He moved as if punched by an invisible opponent.
Kirtananda loomed out of the dark. He pushed Skyler in front of him. They stood over the scientist as he lay on the ground holding his side. Kirtananda shot him two more times in the chest. The man continued to breathe.
“Bloody one sevens.”
Kirtananda shoved his gun in his waistband and unslung his knapsack. He knelt by the dying man. Quickly, he rolled Sikanda’s now-still body in plastic sheeting. He looked up briefly. Skyler had gone.
He dragged the body to one of the graves in the riverbed.
“Go!” Skyler flung out an arm then turned and ran.
Gudrun guided Adele with a hand at her back. Outside, she knelt down by the child and smiled.
“Are you ready?”
Over her daughter’s shoulder, a hundred yards away, she could see the tree line.
“Mummy–” Gudrun focussed on her daughter. She managed a smile. “I’ve decided I don’t want to play the game today. Can we go back inside?”
The sounds of the night squeaked and sighed all around them. Above the distant sound of the waves she heard gunshots. Gudrun’s stomach heaved with fear. The mad dog of a man would be coming back for them. They had to hurry!
Gudrun nudged her daughter with her elbow. She held up a whole bar of chocolate, smelled it. “Mmmm.”
Adele held out her hand. “Mummy!”
“Only if we play the game. That's the rule.” She waited. She tried not to move.
“Okay.”
“Remember, quiet as a mouse!”
They walked hand-in-hand across open ground towards the forested sides of the valley. The dome of the night sky glittered above them. It was a sight she hadn’t thought she would see again except through bars.
When Steven had been dragged out of the cell they had been lucky: the scarred wall under the window had not been noticed. With quick, desperate fingers she had made good the brick joints, as she had made Steven do every morning. She had waited for him to return, waited for the thugs with their sharp suspicious eyes. Instead Skyler had arrived. He had opened the door, his face turned away, unable to look at her, eyes full of a terrible shame. His words, whispered over Adele’s head, echoed still in her ears. Your husband is dead. You must run. Run! Run for your lives.
They reached the trees and found a clear sandy trail, heading north inland and south towards the beach, just as Skyler had described. Gudrun headed south, down to the sea, leaving clear signs for a hundred yards – a torn sleeve on a thorn tree, on bordering barbed wire, footprints in wetter ground – then turned around. She knelt and held her daughter by the shoulders. She breathed in the smell of the girl’s hair.
“There’s more chocolate at the station. So quick as we can! No stopping. No noise. We must follow Daddy's star – there. Let’s go!”
They began running north.
Kirtananda loosed the dogs. They ran towards the trees led by their tongues – two blueticks, a redbone and three ridgebacks, a tight chasing pack. The ancient sound of their excitement echoed off the valley walls.
Kirtananda squatted in the open doorway. He studied the ground. It had to be Skyler who had let them out. The lad was nowhere to be seen. Hiding somewhere. Give him time. He’d done okay. Now he needed to understand what it meant. To understand everything had changed. Everyone was different, but Kirtananda judged he would need a day or so.
He lifted an ear. The dogs’ barking had changed; deep-chested, retched howls carried over the fields. They were calling to him. They had found something.
It took just an hour to catch them – they had nearly reached the coastal road. He settled the dogs then barrowed the bodies back to the river. That was the hard work. Dead weight was heaviest to shift. At least he had dug the holes first. When it was finished all he wanted to do was sleep.
He sat with his back to the banked earth and rolled a well-earned smoke. It tasted good. He wondered where Tarin was. Christmas as he now was, one of the Five.
He missed the man. When he had told him about his blood group – and that he had decided to be one of the Five and accept Neshmet, the Holy Death – Kirtananda had been dismayed. They had served together years ago on the same tours – fought together, even gone to jail together once. He had brought him to the Valley and made him his lieutenant. He would miss him.
He had trusted and relied on him: there was no more useful man to have at your back when things got rough. And things were going to get very rough.
“The world is about to change”, Arshu had said, the last time he had gathered the Heads together. Damn straight. Only that handful and a few chosen sanyasins – the inner circle – had been told. A few hadn’t been able to handle it. They were gone.
Kirtananda contemplated the holes in the riverbed. Now was the waiting time. It wouldn't be long. The chaos that was coming, even Arshu probably hadn't guessed what it would be like.
He could. He was a soldier. He'd seen hell before; heard it, smelled it, tasted it in the air. Cordite smoke. Bodies lying on the ground like broken toys. Fathers holding dead sons, talking to them. Screaming mothers, holding fistfuls of hair in front of their eyes. Torn human flesh, the smell of bleach on concrete.
Through the trees the sky was lightening. A bird began to call. After some minutes there was a short, repeated answer; then the whole forest began to sing.
As if to join in the chorus, one of the open graves gave a moan. The sound brought Kirtananda to his feet. He examined the three bodies in turn. When he bent over Sikanda he got a shock. The man’s eyes were open; they blinked at him through plastic; his mouth moved. Kirtananda hunted in the trees for his shovel. He was angry. The man's refusal to die was a surprise. He hated surprises.
Four cuts with the shovel into the mud at the middle of the dam cooled his anger. He watched the water break through. In moments the graves and the whole riverbed were covered by the stream as it rushed down along its old course towards the sea.
Chapter 20
Christmas emerged from the shadow beneath Palace Pier. He took a long drag on his cigarette and shivered. He could feel the fever sleeping in him. Finish the snout. No rush.