Ghost Monkey

by Paul R. Davis

  "You are not fighting alone. We are with you."

  "We have a live one," someone shouted. Madhav pushed the crowd of warriors back and seized the injured Fang.

  "Where are you coming from?" He lifted the serpent up by the throat. "Tell us and we will make your death quicker than you deserve."

  The Fang spilled the information. He told them how many days, which paths to take, which paths were decoys, and where the traps were. There was some torture involved, including the loss of his fangs and cutting out his poison sacks, but all in all Sugriva was surprised at the ease of the interrogation.

  "Do you believe it?" he whispered to Zaina. "That seemed easy."

  "The Ashtadash award one by their dharma. We will see how well our leader walks his path."

  Sugriva blurted out. "The potions aren't working as well."

  Zaina gave a sidelong glance, then laughed. "I know. I do pay attention to you, Sugriva. You’re worth paying attention to."

  "Why haven't you said anything?"

  "Why should I? Madhav wants you dead, but you haven't finished serving this life."

  Warmth spread through Sugriva, settling as a pleasant stirring in his guts. Tears flowed and he embraced his friend. "Thank you. Too bad when we get home we can't see each other."

  "Dharma is not as strict as you think it is." She winked. "I'll make sure we still see each other from time to time."

  THEY MARCHED FOR A month with little rest to reach the pit they were told about. The temperatures were frigid and the trees looked strange, shifting from the trees of the jungle to something more hardy. The winds were chilly and the humidity dropped.

  Zaina watched the changes with wonderment. "We don't know of this place. They could be sending us north to freeze to death." All of the warriors shivered, fear setting in that the priestess could be right.

  The warriors killed wolves with thick pelts, as well as other animals who were adjusted to the cold. The janaav often stayed in their animal forms to afford a little extra protection from the elements, as man had no protection to the cold. Off in the distance, when climbing the trees, Sugriva could make out a seemingly endless mountain to the north.

  The party was only a mile or so south of where the supposed pit rested. Madhav shifted to a man and said, "Scouts, fly ahead and find the pit. Return before sunset." The scouts flew off into the air. Sugriva couldn't imagine the bitter cold with how high and fast they moved.

  "Strategists, meet with me. Everyone else, start foraging in case we need to spend the night."

  Nearby, the soldiers found a small cave to stay in. The sun set, but the scouts didn't return. Madhav spoke with his unit before they went to bed. "Assume the scouts are dead. The lead is good, whether intentionally or not. We will have half our men awake, and half asleep while camping. Do not let your guard down. Do not be afraid to sound the alarm. I would rather us all wake up in the middle of the night to deal with shadows, than to die in our sleep. Dismissed."

  That night, while Sugriva slept, he had a dream. Something slithered up to him, but the Fang didn't consume him. Instead, he whispered, "You are mine. You will kill my forces, but I will claim your soul." Then a long nail dug into the flesh of Sugriva's forehead. It pierced the skin, and burrowed through his skull. When it touched inside his mind, Sugriva bolted up from his head, breathing heavily.

  Fangs surrounded him, his comrades all dead.

  This is it, the nearly forgotten voice said. The potion had kept the voice a distant nag until now. Your friends are dead, the demons rise up, kill them all.

  Sugriva howled, pulled out his staff, and shed blood until his fur was matted with blood.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Little Man from the South

  Age of Finality

  The story was interrupted when Sugriva received a sharp crack in the middle of his back. Crimson smoke consumed his sight, and the voice blared, you're under attack.

  Then Sugriva came to in a metal cellar with shackles binding his wrists, ankles, and throat. He knelt, his arms pulled behind him, and all the chains connected to contort Sugriva into an impossible position. Divyan sat a few feet away, though well out of range.

  "You always have to push away the gifts you’re given. Why?" Exhaustion was evident in the sullen eyes.

  "I’m not sure. But judging by the chains," he said, rattling them, "I'd say I did something very bad."

  The hawk clucked his tongue. "This is no time to joke. A child hit you with a toy, and you nearly killed the boy. The Ghost Monkey strikes again." He huffed.

  Sugriva looked at the ground. "You weren't touched. You weren't stuck in the jungle, surrounded by snakes and demons." He quivered, then tears dripped down his cheeks. "Everyone tells me I should just snap back to my old life and forget the jungle." He looked into Divyan's eyes, and the hawk looked away. "But no one else went there and survived. No dharma will save you from what I saw and did." Monkey's guts tightened, and his arms flexed, trying to escape the bondage.

  Sugriva sighed and calmed, his body slumping so drastically the chains rattled with slack. "Think they'll actually go through with execution? It's not the first time they threatened it."

  Divyan shrugged. "Any time the Feral Monkey shows up, they go straight to execution. General Humbari favors it. You remind him of when he left his path, and he wants to wash that away in blood. I'll keep trying to protect you from his rage. Prince Anka can only hold the blade for so long, though. And I think secretly he wants you dead, too. It's just not popular."

  Sugriva pulled on the chains, then looked back to Divyan. "How bad?"

  "Two children went to the physician. One has a bruised spine. The physician is realigning his energies. The other has a dislocated shoulder and broken rib. That requires more effort. One child is an orphan and no one cares what happened. The other, his mother is furious. His father fought with you and says you should have a caretaker. He even offered to be the caretaker."

  "What did Humbari say?"

  "The man was a human. If you threw a fit you would kill him. You knocked out five guards, and it took another six to subdue you. That was brought up, too."

  Sugriva laughed. The despair was overwhelming. "At the very least I can be free of the pain." He looked to Divyan, brows knit. "I was almost sane. Jaya would have burned for it, but I would be sane." He rattled the chains. "This is my reward for saving Jaya."

  "Your dharma is unfair." Divyan stood up and touched Sugriva's forehead with a thumb, then walked away.

  THERE WAS A HALL NEAR the orrery which had an extensive foyer. Thrones sat on the back wall, towering over the common floor. Seats lined the other walls with an elevated view. When the scholars first saw it, they thought it would be perfect for courtly proceedings. Generals, princes, and wise men loomed over Sugriva from those seats, scowling. They whispered among themselves, though everyone knew what they discussed: Execution. Sugriva welcomed a release from his sins and guilt.

  Elephant janaav trumpeted that court was in session, and a herald walked forward, his boisterous voice filling the room. "The presiding prince, Prince Anka, shall now address the people in regards to crimes committed by the warrior Sugriva."

  Prince Anka stood. "Sugriva, you are aware of all crimes brought against you in their entirety?" Sugriva nodded and the prince continued. "We are debating what your punishment should be for striking two children. You are corrupted, and we fear the corruption is incurable. What do you have to say?"

  There is only one cure, the voice retorted.

  Sugriva snorted at the morbid humor. "There is always a cure."

  "Oh?" The prince raised a brow.

  "Severing my head should purify me." He lowered his head, showing the back of his neck. "Please."

  The gusto of the room was sucked out, though that was not Sugriva's goal. "Please," he said again.

  Prince Anka nodded, and his haughty features softened. "I understand." The words were barely whispered, and Sugriva wondered if everyone could hear the prince. T
he prince didn't understand, but he was given a glimpse the day Jaya fell.

  "You saved our people, even if you couldn't save our home. You have a cycle of sinning against yourself, us, and the Ashtadash, then redeeming yourself spectacularly. Surrendering yourself now, when you know you can't find the path, is honorable. We will help you move on, so you can have a positive balance upon your soul in the next life."

  Horns blew in the distance. The room erupted in commotion, and soon a messenger entered.

  "Who is it?" General Humbari bellowed at the panting men.

  "The people from the south are here. I don't know how, but they traveled weeks in a couple days. Or our scouts were drunk."

  "I will check." General Divyan shifted into a hawk and took flight. Soldiers and people scattered in the main court. Those not on the warrior's path went to their homes. Those who followed the dharma of war went to the southern walls where the horns sounded. In a few moments General Divyan returned. "The messenger is right. The desert rats are here. The boy with oil skin leads them. As earlier reports say, ten thousand sounds about right."

  Prince Anka's eyes darted around the room, before they landed on Sugriva. "Dress up two servants so they look important. Their dharma will be on them. Send Sugriva to lead them. Also dress him as we would a prince. His dharma is already fallen. Sugriva, you will negotiate with the boy and see what they want. If they kill you, then the Ashtadash wanted blood. If they spare you, then the Ashtadash spared you."

  IN THE DISTANCE A CLOUD of dust raised up behind the massive army of refugees. The masses went on until the land blended into the sky, and they were as wide as Sugriva could see. The monkey shuddered and looked to the servants who were shaking so badly their knees knocked together as if a cadence to welcome the...invaders.

  They are invaders. Bahimatt will become infested by their malcontent. The thrones were warmed for them. Fear them, Sugriva.

  The voice rattled, and Sugriva wasn't sure if that meant he should be terrified or relieved. Either way, the voice was right on one thing: The locusts were going to overrun the Jayans in Bahimatt just as the Jayans first populated the empty space and claimed it as theirs. Then the host stopped and the little black man came forward. He was around four feet tall and his skin shimmered under the sun. His head was bald. He wore a wool robe and held a staff of pale wood with a knob on the top. His skin looked chapped in places. Large chunks curled up or fell away to expose raw, red mucus.

  The little black man spoke with the voice of an adult, which startled Sugriva. "Hello," he said. "I am Dameneh, prophet of the One True God. We were led here for shelter and to bolster the city."

  "Bolster it against what?" Sugriva tilted his head, squinting.

  One of the servants passed out, which confused Sugriva. The little boy-man in front of them was comforting, an easy presence in a very tumultuous day. The execution would likely be very public, though after they made the new visitors feel welcomed or unwelcomed.

  "The One tells me you aren't well. Is that true?"

  He is a witch. He is wicked. Strike him down now.

  The frantic voice put Sugriva more at ease. If it thought this boy was a vile presence, the boy was likely important. On the other hand, how did Dameneh know?

  "What do you mean not well?"

  "Your anger. That voice inside your head. Does anyone else know about it?" The boy never stopped smiling. He approached Sugriva, and the monkey's legs seemed to turn to stone, rooting him.

  The little boy was hardly a foot away when he said, "I can help you. The Ashtadash couldn't cure you, though they were close. They are an illusion, even the true Ashtadash. Your dharma is a lie. You are loved, Sugriva, and I can show you that love."

  Dameneh reached up with the knob of his staff.

  Flee! Get away! Claw out his eyes!

  With a gentle tap, the staff knocked against Sugriva's forehead.

  It was as if Sugriva woke up from a seething dream where he hated everyone. Colors brightened, his thoughts dissipated until they were his own. Muscles released so much tension he was left sore. Tears streaked down his cheeks. He awaited the voice, expecting some rebuff, but it wasn't there. Even the smoke from his fingernails halted.

  Dameneh embraced Sugriva. The little black man said, "You are loved, Sugriva. You are not some feral monkey. You are not some ghost to be feared. You are loved."

  Then Dameneh walked past Sugriva and to the doors. "I am Dameneh, prophet of the One, as I told this poor man you left to die. Doors are like paper and will not stop me."

  The warriors on the ramparts were too dumbstruck to respond. Dameneh touched the knob of his staff to the door, and they burst open with a boom so loud it echoed across the massive city.

  MONKEY WAS ESCORTED back to his home by a woman with olive skin and black, silk hair. She didn't speak, though her build and the way she walked denoted a woman of strength.

  The following morning she baked bread and made tea. A little girl ran around, giggling and babbling. She spoke fairly well, though she kept waving her hands, and her mother would nod and do something. They both sat at the table when they saw Sugriva, and the little girl said, "Join us."

  A boy burst into the domicile. He spoke a language Sugriva couldn't understand. Then the woman moved her fingers. The two kept at this for some time, leaving Sugriva entirely in the dark. Finally the boy said, "I'm Tabr. This is Qas. She's mute. Did you understand anything we just said?" The boy squinted, honestly curious if Sugriva knew their language.

  "I don't know your language. How'd you learn ours?"

  Tabr sat at the table, and Sugriva joined the others. "The One. Sometimes He lets us communicate without effort, and sometimes our words aren't meant to be heard. Dameneh says your name is Sugriva. We are caring for you. Qas here is making sure people don't touch you. She is really good at making sure people aren't touched—unless they want to be." Sugriva grinned along with Tabr. Qas scowled.

  "What happened to me? When the little boy touched me?"

  "You were cursed. You aren't now." He sat down and took a cup of tea and hunk of bread. After touching his forehead and muttering a prayer, Tabr ate.

  Sugriva touched his head repeatedly. Everyone else seemed to enjoy doing it, and it appeared to be some sort of trigger. Maybe he could trigger better sleep.

  Tabr walked over to him and Qas stiffened. The young man clasped Sugriva's hand using both of his. He looked into the monkey man's eyes, and Sugriva's stomach warmed. Tabr said, "It's okay, Sugriva. We've got you. You're safe. Chaos, your own people, they won't hurt you. Not to say there's no more grief, but you're safe."

  "Grief always waits in the shadows, and I am the shadows." Sugriva struggled to stay in the moment, his mind wandering back to the voice and other events. They ate at him, and he could almost hear the corruption speaking to him, yelling at him from behind some wall of light.

  The youth smiled. "Worry about that later." He pulled out a scroll and sat on the ground, beckoning Sugriva to join him. "Would you like to hear more about the One who gives peace?"

  Through the day, the night, and into the next morning, Tabr's words shuddered through and gripped Sugriva's heart. It both eased and pained his mind to think how long he was walking his dharma when there was a True path for everyone.

  When Tabr finished, Sugriva embraced him and said, "Teach me to walk the path."

  "The path's narrow."

  "Teach me."

  "First sleep." The boy chuckled and nodded to the sun rising outside the window.

  Qas nodded her head wearily. The little girl, Sapheen, rested in her lap. Qas signed something at Tabr. He said, "Qas agrees. We're protected here, so it will be safe."

  IN THE MORNING, SUGRIVA was alone in his home. When he went outside, it was still day. There were hundreds of people he didn't recognize walking in and out of the homes. A sort of market was set up with essentials, but no one was buying or selling. They took if they said they needed and gave if they had too much. It was bizarre.
<
br />   The people primarily had light brown skin and curly black hair. They looked similar to the people of Jaya, though a little lighter. They spoke a different language, and while Tabr was understandable, everyone else was not. "A gift from the One?" he pondered aloud. A few people looked at him strangely, but the monkey didn't pay attention to them. He doubted they knew of the janaav. If he really wanted attention, a shift would get it.

  Near the tower where the council met, Dameneh spoke loudly in his native language about the One. He told them all what Sugriva was told the previous night. Sugriva's eyes welled up. A small group of Jayans fell prostrate on the stones and wept. They blathered about how the light revealed itself, and they had been blind all their life.

  However, most hurled insults and cursed the liar for leading souls off their dharmic paths. They spat on and kicked their brothers and sisters who professed they heard truth in the foreigner's words.

  Qas stood by him with a spear of bone. The tip oozed green, some poison from a monster unknown in the Sankive jungle. Either way, what he saw in the streets was a great way to cause a war. He prayed Prince Anka would act with wisdom and work with the strangers instead of conflicting over religion. Religion was powerful, though, and Sugriva saw it regularly in his interactions with Bagheer back in Mibtha. However, Jayan priests had no way to preach to the sand-dwellers. They were not born into dharmic paths. Even if they converted, they would be outcastes. It wasn't very enticing.

  When Dameneh saw Sugriva, he warmed and said, "Good morning. How was your evening?"

  "Strange. But good." Sugriva felt for the anger and taint within him, but he couldn't find it. The crowds didn't elicit a reaction either. "What did you do to me?"

  "I released you. You're no longer a slave to Chaos." Dameneh ceased to address the crowd, descending from his perch. The anger continued, but Dameneh's people kept them away from their prophet. "Did you need anything?"