Nirvana Effect

13



Tomy was thirteen years old. He was the messenger of the living god. In four years he would go through his trial, just as Mahanta had, but he would come out a man, not a child eternal.

Until then, he was a child in the eyes of the tribe, just like his master.

He remembered Manassa’s words every time he doubted himself. Manassa had a way of saying things so poetically.

You are a child like me. Do not slight my age with your doubts. I have said you can do it, so it can be done. It must be done. It is as I have foreseen.

You have the protection of your god’s foresight, and you are your god’s eyes and ears.

You will be remembered not for your might but for your brilliance, Tomy; not for your speeches but for your ability to hear.

You are my messenger, and you will not fail me.

Tomy would not fail his master, the Onge living god.

Manassa had fulfilled all the prophecies. Tomy was grateful to serve him. He was grateful to live in the most hopeful, prideful days of Onge history.

Tomy saw that Manassa was not alone in the temple. Manassa was speaking with the white man. Tomy stopped on a dime when he saw his lord had company. He almost tripped over himself.

Manassa beckoned. Tomy, with more decorum and no more shouting, walked to the pair.

I must remember the protocol. I must never speak unless recognized. I must never shout. Manassa might not care about my manners while it’s just the two of us, but I must always follow the protocols in company.

I must always follow the protocols anyway - never know who might be watching.

Tomy knelt and looked at the ground. He waited for Manassa to acknowledge him.

“Tomy,” said Manassa.

“My lord,” said Tomy.

“You have news.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, my lord,” said Tomy. He tried to slow his breathing. He hadn’t realized he’d gotten so worked up. In contrast, Manassa was emotionless, which somehow made it even more difficult for Tomy to calm himself.

Tomy looked up at the white man. He seemed disinterested, but he was not leaving.

Manassa answered his messenger’s unspoken question. “Edward Styles is on our side, Tomy. He has agreed to help us. You may speak to me in his presence.”

“Yes, master,” said Tomy. Still, he was suspicious.

Manassa continued addressing Tomy. “You wish to tell me that you’ve spied on Dook, and know he intends to make a move soon.”

Tomy’s jaw dropped. He refrained from asking, “How did you know?” Any knew the answer. Tomy tried to find words. “He--I watched him--he spied on Nockwe, my lord.”

“Yes,” said Manassa, nodding. “And you spied on him.”

“Tien went into Nockwe’s house. At first I thought he’d try to kill him. But Tien was warning Nockwe about Dook. All the while Dook listened at the window,” said Tomy quickly. He realized he’d started looking up at Manassa’s face, and again turned his gaze to the dirt floor of the temple.

“Yes,” said Manassa.

“There is more. Dook heard our chieftain coughing. Nockwe is ill, far worse than we’ve suspected. I think Dook knows, too. He may risk a challenge soon,” said Tomy.

“It won’t be any risk,” said Manassa. “Not to Dook. Not with Nockwe’s illness. Dook plans something, though. He would rather not challenge Nockwe directly. The chief is too popular. He is smart. He has something else in mind.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Search Dook’s hut.”

“I have, my lord,” said Tomy.

“And?”

“Poison,” said Tomy. “He’s stored up some special poisons. Nothing else out of the ordinary.”

“You have done well, Tomy. Though I fear there is nothing yet we can do to help our chieftain.”

“Surely, my lord, you are the living god. All things are possible,” said Tomy.

“So they are, my messenger, so they are.” Manassa crouched close to him. “But even I cannot stop the jungle flower from wilting, or add one more hour to the setting of the sun. Nockwe’s sun may very well be setting. We must prepare for all futures and so guide our own.”

“Yes, my lord.” The idea of Nockwe being killed saddened Tomy. Nockwe was a hero of the tribe. His people compared him to Le’ton, the savior of centuries past who led the tribe out of the Sickness.

“It will be a tragedy and a setback if Dook murders Nockwe. Nockwe is a great chieftain,” said Manassa.

Tomy momentarily toyed with the idea of murdering Dook. It was not beyond question. Yet Tomy had never taken another man’s life, and there were too many unknowns. He decided that he would do so only if his master wished it.

There were other matters, matters in town that he knew he could not talk about with the white man there. So he remained in his place and said no more.

“Who is Dook?” asked the white man.

“Dook is the man who tried to have you killed,” answered Manassa.

The white man looked directly at Manassa when he spoke to him. Tomy was afraid the white man might be punished for the sacrilege, but it didn’t seem Manassa cared at all. Tomy cared more than Manassa.

“And Tien is the one who tried to stab me?” asked Edward.

“Yes,” answered Manassa.

“Why can’t we warn Nockwe?” asked Edward.

“Nockwe already knows,” said Manassa. “And furthermore, once Dook makes his challenge, it will be up to Nockwe to survive. There is no way around the most basic laws of our tribe. Again, we must be ready.”

“For what?” asked Edward.

“We’ll discuss everything much further. The time has come for that. But suffice to say that if Nockwe is killed and Dook becomes chieftain, there will be no order in the tribe. My plans could be set back several months. I am a religious figure, not an administrator,” said Manassa.

Manassa turned to Tomy. “Furthermore,” Manassa continued, “Nockwe is a friend. He does not deserve to die. Tomy, you have my leave.”

Tomy looked up to Manassa. The god nodded. There was still much to discuss, but it could wait until the white man was otherwise disposed.

Tomy was learning many things under his master, not the least of which was that there were various degrees of friends.