Nirvana Effect

32



Nockwe stormed into Manassa’s temple. The two guards posted at the door tensed at their weapons. They would never raise a finger against their chieftain, and yet in that instant he’d seemed more an enemy than an ally. Nockwe’s eyes gaped wide, his every muscle taut. He was stifling a roar that caught in his throat and manifested as a persisting grumble.

“Manassa!” he shouted. Manassa was not in the main temple area. Nockwe ran to his quarters behind the throne. “Manassa!”

Where is he? “Here, Nockwe.” Nockwe found him, sitting at the edge of his bed in his quarters. He actually had a real mattress, elevated from the floor.

“You had him killed!” shouted Nockwe. He was furious.

Quietly, Manassa said, “Remember the protocol, Nockwe.”

“To hell with the protocol!” The guards were sure to hear him.

Manassa stood up and walked past him to the entrance of his quarters. He waved someone off - presumably a guard who was coming to check on the commotion.

Manassa pulled aside a rug to reveal the trap door he’d installed. It was an underground tunnel into the woods. He opened the trap and beckoned Nockwe to follow him.

They hunched to make it through the short tunnel. It took them to the jungle. Manassa walked briskly in silence, but Nockwe had no trouble keeping up.

“You have started a bloodbath, Manassa. Have you no respect for the tribe?”

Manassa was quiet. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your priests, your inner circle, they’re killing dissenters.”

“They’re your inner circle, Nockwe,” said Manassa.

“They do not act on my orders,” said Nockwe.

“Nor mine.” Though Nockwe spoke modern Onge, Manassa kept to the more ancient dialect. It made the whole conversation feel surreal to the chieftain. The adrenaline was already starting to flush out of his body, to be replaced by an empty dread.

Anger had caused him to play the fool. His reaction could have far-reaching repercussions. Moreover, he knew now he might never learn the truth.

“It cannot be coincidence that your three greatest critics are now dead by challenge.”

The flow of the walking was draining Nockwe’s outrage. Manassa did not stop. He climbed down into a ravine and changed directions. Nockwe followed. “Coincidence?” said Manassa. “I don’t believe in coincidence. It was obviously planned.”

“Inge was wise and cautious. Wisdom and caution make him no enemy of ours. He did nothing to malign you or Glis, and yet Glis killed him.”

“Glis?” asked Manassa dispassionately.

“You didn’t know?”

“I did foresee Inge’s death, but not this way. All your sentiments aside, Inge was a stumbling block to our vision. But I didn’t think he’d be killed by Onge.”

Nockwe decided not to take up that point. It was moot. “He was challenged for sleeping with Glis’s wife,” said Nockwe.

“Did he?” asked Manassa.

“Glis and two others caught him in the act,” said Nockwe.

Manassa finally stopped and turned. His voice was hollow, empty. “Then why do you come to me in this manner, my chieftain?”

“Glis’s wife seduced him,” said Nockwe.

“How do you know?”

“It is a fact. Inge has three times the years of Glis’s woman. She is only sixteen. It is fact.”

Manassa nodded. “You see conspiracy. I see it, too.”

“The blood of the tribe must be preserved, as must its wisdom be. Glis committed murder, Manassa.” At your request.

“Kill Glis.” Again, Manassa was emotionless. He spoke in the traditional tongue. “I trust your judgment, my chieftain. His zealotry may be commendable, but his methods cannot be permitted. We are the greatest nation on Earth, Nockwe, but we are the smallest of nations. Our blood must be preserved. No murder shall be permitted.”

“No more murder is necessary. The inner circle has slain your opposition,” said Nockwe. He searched Manassa’s eyes for insight. They gave no clue, no betrayal. The foot of space between the chieftain and the god felt like a great void.

Manassa spoke quieter still. “If you do not control the inner circle, then soon the inner circle shall be our enemy. Look not to me to displace the fault, Nockwe, for the murder of Glis and the deaths of the others. Look into the truth-water back to your own reflection. The inner circle is your dog, whether or not you desire it so. We agreed it was so. I trust you, Nockwe, but I fear that if you in turn trust too much, you will lose your faith in me and even in yourself. Don’t trustthe inner circle. Don’t trust my priests. Get them into line, else they will be the dog that will eat us all up.”

Nockwe was silent. He didn’t know what to do. His mind was telling him to drop it, but his hunter’s instinct still told him something was wrong.

“Nockwe,” sighed Manassa. “I understand your frustration. I have foreseen it, in fact, for if I were you I would have done the same thing. But the fact of the matter is that even if I had ordered these peoples’ deaths, you could have stopped it. You must own and control our priests. And we must trust one another. Do you see that with you over my priests, I leave myself defenseless to you?”

The sun was setting behind Manassa. The early calls of the beasts of the night disrupted the silence between the two men. This inner circle, these priests, they are the jungle beasts. Nockwe foresaw that one day he might become their target. He did not fear it. He would do what he must for the tribe.

“You have done me no wrong with your anger, Nockwe. You have done me no wrong. You are the sort who only trusts another man if you hold a knife to his neck. It is why you are so valuable to our people. I will permit you to hold it as close to my neck as you like. I know you will only threaten me if I threaten the tribe.”

Manassa’s voice remained quiet and firm. He edged even closer to Nockwe.

“Do not ever put the tribe at risk like this, again, Nockwe. I love the Onge as much as you do. My vision is the future of our race. Do not endanger it with stupidity. You may blame whoever you wish, but deep down you know the truth.” Manassa walked past him.

Nockwe did not turn.

“Nockwe,” said Manassa. “Do not waste any time in getting your dogs in line. Our world turns ever more quickly. I fear that we will need to move much sooner than planned.”

Manassa left.

Nockwe knelt and mourned.

Inge had been Nockwe’s father’s best friend. He was as an uncle to Nockwe. The chieftain could see the corpse of Inge on the backs of his eyelids. The body had eight bleeding holes. Glis had stabbed him eight times. Inge’s face was frozen in an awful contortion of pain. His body had reeked of feces and urine; his eyes stared out into the sky. Nockwe knew Inge’s eyes were looking for his chieftain, for help and for justice. But Nockwe had been outside of the village on errand for Manassa when the challenge had occurred. Inge was dead before Nockwe ever set foot back into the village.

I must be smarter, and stronger, in many more ways than before. Else I may lose everything. He thought of his wife, children, and village. He thought of them all with bloody holes in their bodies.

He knew Manassa was right. He shouldn’t have to trust Manassa. He should know. In such a situation as his, it was weak to trust anyone. It was better simply to know and control everything.

I will do this, starting with the inner circle. Starting with Glis.

Manassa may be a snake, but he is an enlightened snake…Onge through and through…fitting a god as any…