by Rayner Ye
***
Same time next evening, she stood on the dirt track with six captives.
“The most important thing about union is breathing,” Aedre said. “Breathe in slowly and deeply, so your belly fills and then your lungs. When they are full, breathe out slowly until they are empty. Count in your head as you breathe in and out, so your inhalation and exhalation are the same numbers of seconds. Keep these breath cycles until we lie down at the end.”
Aedre took them through a set of simple postures. Some captives were stronger than others and could’ve held out longer, but she didn’t want others to feel pain and struggle. “If you feel uncomfortable in any way, please come out of the posture. Union isn’t a competition. It’s an expression of self-love. You don’t want to hurt yourself.”
Not many listened, their limbs trembled and their jaws clenched, so she only put them in positions for ten or twenty-second stretches. She always reminded them of breathing slowly between postures and observing physical feelings within.
In the end, they laid on their backs as Aedre talked them through relaxing. Serenity painted every face.
Warmth rushed up her spine, exploding in her heart. She shuddered and bowed her head with humbleness.
On the bus, the half-starved captives tucked into their bread. A custard-coloured woman said between mouthfuls, “You know, I haven’t felt this good in a long time. Thank you. Will you teach every day?”
Aedre’s bones turned to rubber. She wanted that time to do it alone and to love herself. But how could she possibly deny others their health and happiness? “Yes, I will.”
She saved her food and carried it off the bus. She had to do union at home alone. Her body begged for it.
A guard grabbed her wrist. “Why didn’t you eat it on the bus? You did your union.”
“No. I taught union. There is a big difference. Aren’t I allowed to take my food with me? I did last night.”
“No. It messes up the camp.”
She winced and touched her hollow stomach. Could she go without the meagre food to do union in her room? She could try.
In her room, her union practice was slower than usual as she held each pose for several minutes, going through the nine aspects of the Indite Bee Goddess.
Her arms and legs twisted into the DNA Helix, she balanced on one foot, then repeated on the other side.
Positioned into the Spider, she balanced on her fingertips, thumbs tucked in, and torso scrunched into a ball.
The Virus: sitting with legs wide and tummy flat on the floor.
The Messenger: balancing on one foot with one hand pressed against the back of her head while the other hand reached for the sky—the ceiling in her case.
The Healer: kneeling with hands in prayer at her heart.
The Star: a handstand where her legs split apart.
The Wavelength: squatting low with knees together and arms shooting up high.
The Mushroom: sitting cross-legged and twisting side to side before curling up on the floor.
And the Leaf: standing on tiptoes, palms together pointing straight up.
In the bathroom, as she bent down to lather soap between her toes, her stomach whined with hunger. She sat on the floor and gazed at her skeletal limbs. Although her body needed union to preserve itself, it needed food and sleep to survive.
Freedom to practice union alone before having the luxury to eat on the bus had become a distant dream.
Perhaps she could teach other captives a set of simple postures which they could do on their own. Maybe she could choose one of the best students to teach those postures so that she could give herself love too.
Escaping seemed out of the question now. The captives who she taught would challenge her. Their bodies were malformed and worn out. Might as well help others to help themselves through this awful life.
Murder
Aedre taught union on the dusty road following another deadly shift. She’d found a woman’s sooty body in a tunnel, blood seeping from her mouth, eyes peeled. Her stomach bulged. Pregnant perhaps?
Why was she allowed to teach Union like this? Lives were dispensable here.
After her lesson, Aedre stowed away food from the bus, returned to her concrete shack, and performed union on her bamboo mat.
Life here was cruel, but her students had already shown the benefits of daily union practice. Spines, once twisted and stooped, now straightened. Those who’d contemplated jumping off a rope bridge in the cave of selenite towers, now smiled. Pain in knotted muscles released as nervous systems stretched and aligned.
The time between postures showed the most benefit. Mindfulness of breath and physical sensations. Escapism from their physical reality. Lying on their backs at the end gave them time to heal and benefit from every practice.
Now it was her time to lie on the floor and take her spirit to the Otherworld. It had been too long since she’d bothered. How could she have asked for help when she’d made Dad suicidal?
She deserved to go now, though. Not to ask Sharr Shuvuu for anything, but to share her experience. Aedre appeared from her usual place—the fox lair, then she crawled to the surface. She kowtowed on the path to planet Goddess and offered a rose petal from her heart. Where it fell, a rose tree sprouted and grew to her height.
She strolled through trees to a stream, knelt, and bowed in the water, then gave a rose petal to the Water Goddess. It floated downstream, followed by a glittery pathway. Deer, badgers, hedgehogs, and rabbits scurried around the stream and drank from the glitter.
Wings broke through her flesh and lifted her far above. The Sun God pulled her into him, and she plucked a rose petal from her heart. Her aura became golden as he burned her up for renewal and lowered her into the blue sky. She gave the wind a rose petal too. It blew away, breaking up into a billion seeds which attracted an array of colourful birds. Some seeds fell through clouds and onto a desert, then grew into a vast forest.
She drifted like a feather to her fox lair. Sharr Shuvuu was nowhere to be seen. “Sharr!”
Nothing.
“If you can hear me, thank you, Sharr!” she yelled. “This is why I was supposed to come to Kuanja, to teach union to those who need it most. Thank you for telling me not to go to Mayleeda!”
Still, nothing. Strange.
If only she could share with Sharr Shuvuu. Her union students strengthened emotionally, spiritually, mentally, and physically like the four elements.
“And the fifth?” Sharr Shuvuu’s voice whispered on the wind.
“Love.”
Sharr Shuvuu didn’t come, but she was close by listening, Aedre knew it.
Aedre took a rose petal from her heart and placed it on the ground. “This is for you, Sharr Shuvuu.”
***
Wearing her robe, Aedre waited in line for the bus to take them to The Shard of Swords.
A battered car arrived, and a young, handsome Native-Red poked his head out the driver’s window. “Is Aedrehere?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“The union teacher?”
She covered her mouth. Was it blasphemy against Sattchism? “Yes.”
He smiled, high cheekbones reaching his sparkling black eyes. He stepped out, opened a back door, and beckoned for her to get in.
Goosebumps prickled her arms. Was he going to torture her? “But, why, do—”
“The manager’s been watching your union lessons and wants you to teach union in his village.”
Chatter from other captives filled the air like crickets in the grass.
“That’s great, Aedre,” a Mayleedian male captive said.
Another student patted her on the back. “Your kindness has paid off.”
Aedre put her hands on her hips. “But I wanna keep teaching you.” She looked at the man, still standing, arm outstretched for her to get in. “Can I return to teach in the evening?”
“Ah.” He giggled and looked around. “You’re having me on, aren’t you?”
“No.”
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“We’re offering you freedom. Don’t you want it?”
Another student nudged her with an elbow. “Take it. Didn’t you hear what he said? Freedom.”
“The manager wants you to come to his village called Kos,” he said. “You’re special, and this isn’t the life for you. A nice home behind Monkey Forest.” His eye twitched. “A beautiful river. Good for practising union on your own. Your host mother in the compound will prepare your meals.”
How nice it’d be to have her mother too.
She turned to her students.
Some hadn’t yet joined her classes. Their backs were still bent, and unused muscles wasted away, which could otherwise support all the labour of chipping and lifting. Going would’ve made her a hypocrite. But freedom. A home behind a forest? Green trees, as refreshing to her soul as mountain water to her body. More water to drink. More food.
She turned to her students. “Promise you’ll keep practising?”
“Yeah, yeah,” one said.
“Just go, will you?” another said.
Still reluctant, she eased into the back seat, biting her lip. What was going on? Why was the manager treating her so special?
The engine started, and the car rumbled along the road. “I don’t understand why the manager wants me to teach union in his village. This is a Sattchi country and union’s Indite.”
“You don’t know where you are?”
“Inarmuzza?”
He laughed. “Yes. But you’re on an island called Giok. It’s an Indite island. That’s why the manager’s taken you. Wait till you see where you’ll be living, beautiful place.”
“I’m not Indite, though.”
“Doesn’t matter. Your teaching is superb, and you have the real essence of using your body and mind to make a bridge between the Goddess and God, the Moon and Sun.”
“How d’you know?”
He laughed like a child. So happy. “We’ve all been watching. Our guard, Miko’s recorded your classes. You’re more important than you know. Magical.”
She flushed, but still doubted this sudden show of charity. The manager’s labour camp wasn’t impressive. “I hope the captives keep learning union. It was good for them.”
“Hmm.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I should introduce myself. I’m Gus.”
The car wended a curve along a route she’d never seen. Fruit trees flanked the narrow road as they passed open-fronted stalls made from bamboo and reed. Locals stood behind tables, selling plastic products for the home. Male stall owners sat on tiny stools, smoking and drinking from mugs. Some played board games at low tables, others squatted on the curb, watching light traffic and pedestrians go past.
Heads turned towards her car. A girl pointed at Aedre as a woman brushed her hair. Next to them, three women made crafts from flowers, bamboo, banana leaves, and incense.
“They’re making offerings for spirits.” Gus passed her a bread roll. “Here.”
She scoffed it down.
He laughed. “Hungry, hey?”
She smiled. His kindness seemed genuine. “Could we listen to some music?”
Gus reached for a button on the radio. “Oh. How about the news? It’s on now.”
“That’s a bit serious, isn’t it?”
“Don’t you wanna know what’s happening in Plan8? Been out of the loop so long. Wanna use my holophone?”
“My Inarmuzzan’s not good.”
“Got translation technology. D’you want intergalactic news or local?”
“Local to begin with.”
“Suits me.” He accessed a relevant page and handed her his phone, then turned on some Inarmuzzan rock music and sang along.
Using flatscreen mode, she intended to wipe away main stories about murder and terrorism, in favour of medical breakthroughs and science. But a headline caught her eye.
Mosquito Drone Mystery Deaths.
Aedre opened the link and read on.
Three new victims were found dead this morning, following another mosquito drone poisoning in Inarmuzza.
The latest victims are two ex-pats and a Native-Red connected to a Mayleedian language school in North Rajka.
Bhaltair Skot and his wife, Nabi Kristen were found dead in their bed, after not turning up for work. Mosh Sinclair, a fellow teacher, was also found dead.
Aedre’s puffed out her cheeks as she breathed, trying not to regurgitate her food. Nabi and Mosh. Dead.
Their memorial service will be held tonight outside their home. Police continue their investigation as to who is behind Rajanakki’s drone poisonings. They are unsure if the killings are terrorism-related. The number of those poisoned by mosquito drones has risen to two-hundred and seventy.”
Tears rolled down Aedre’s face as she eyed her mosquito drone inside the window. She shuddered.
Gus stopped singing and glanced around. “Hey. Are you okay?”
“No. Have you heard about mosquito drone murders?”
He frowned. “Everyone has. It’s been all over the news the past month. Why?”
“The most recent victims are my friends in Rajka.”
“Oh. Shit. I’m sorry. What can I do?”
“Nothing. I made a mistake today. I don’t want to be free. Don’t deserve it. I wanna go back.”
“It’s too late. I’ve messaged my boss from my holophone. He’s expecting us.”
“I won’t be able to teach union like this.”
“It doesn’t matter. We can wait.”
Aedre frowned and turned to face him. “I don’t get it. Your boss must be rich enough to employ any foreign female to teach union.”
“Course he can, but you’re special.”
“What? Thanks to me my dad’s in a mental home, my friends are dead—” She glanced at the mechanical mosquito stuck to the outside window. “—and I’ve deserted my union students.”
“You have no clue what’s happening here,” Gus said, anger in his eyes. “None of that crap matters.”
“Crap? My friends and my dad are crap to you? Well, they’re not to me.”
“Shit happens for a reason, and all of this has brought you to us.”
“Tell me the real reason you’ve taken me away then.”
“You’ll find out when we get to Kos.”
Her sobs intensified while they drove through rice paddies. Her dear Nabi and Mosh. Would they have funerals?
***
The car arrived at a red-brick wall. Gus climbed out first, then opened her door. “This is where you’ll be staying.” He laughed at her expression. “Don’t worry. All Giokese homes look like this.”
The wall ran around in a large square. Neighbouring homes looked identical.
“They’re called compounds. You’ll like it here.”
“If I don’t run away.”
He arched an eyebrow and shook his head. “How can you say such a thing?”
“Ah. It might not mean shit to you, but if you’ve forgotten, my friends were killed. My housemate and best friend.”
Gus sighed and gripped her wrist. “Come on.”
“What? Let go of me.” She shook her arm, and he released it.
He stepped through an entrance. “You coming?”
“Have a choice?”
“Not really.”
She followed and nearly bumped into a statue of a spider against an interior wall, then took a sharp right.
“That’s the Protector,” Gus said. “Evil spirits can’t go around corners. That’s why Giokese entrances don’t go straight.”
If only her mosquito drone couldn’t go straight. Aedre’s feet fell heavy behind him. Heart like a block of ice.
Plush gardens surrounded flat red brick dwellings with pointed roofs. The only two-storey building stood on stilts and had rooms underneath, and a winding staircase up the side. Instead of brick, it had been constructed of wood, reeds, and bamboo.
“That’s where you’ll be staying if you don’t run away,” Gus said, pointing at that bamboo ro
om on stilts.
Aedre swallowed. It was beautiful and serene, but she didn’t belong here. Mosh and Nabi killed. She needed a bad environment to match her mood—The Shard of Swords.
They approached a red brick dwelling, and Gus knocked on an intricately carved door. No reply. “Your host family must be out. Don’t worry. I know where your key is.”
She followed him up the steps to a wooden verandah overlooking gardens. He picked up a key from a low glass table and fiddled with the lock in a glass door.
“This is your room. Your wash room’s underneath. Wash up and have a rest. I’ll wait in the garden for your host family to return.”
“The manager of the labour camp lives here?”
“No. Somare lives in Kos too, but has a large house a couple of miles from here in highland tea plantations.”
“When am I going to find out what all this is about?”
“I don’t know. Sorry. It’s not for me to say.”
“Look. Tell me something. I won’t say anything. I’m already dying with grief. Don’t need these mind-games.”
He looked over his shoulder and sighed. “They’re not mind-games.” He stepped forward to whisper in her ear. Her skin prickled when he pulled curls out of the way and tucked them behind her ear. “Where’s your mosquito drone?”
Aedre’s jaw dropped open, and she looked at the drone. He nodded. “You’ll soon find out.”
***
How kind this Giokese family was, to board, look after, and feed Aedre. How patient her students were to wait until her depression passed.
But there was more, and no one had told her yet, the real reason she was here—something to do with a gold-toothed slaver who’d killed Nabi and Mosh. The manager knew something and used her union teaching as an excuse. But why did they want to keep her sweet? Who were they trying to please? The gangster?
How could depression pass, when grief and confusion saturated her?
She might reside in a compound surrounded by beauty, but no beauty would soak through her aura of doom.
In reality, she resided in a bottomless pit.
Guilt squeezed her every day. She crouched in the corner of her room, hair matted into dreadlocks.
The gangster’s mosquito drone observed her from a reed-woven wall, cruelly recording every second. The evil man with gold teeth at the other end, laughing at her. Nabi and Mosh’s murderer.