Nirvana Effect

34



The twelve chosen priests of the inner circle stood around the fire Nockwe had built for their meeting. He had chosen the clearing where Manassa had given his speech to the tribe, where the very trees had reverberated with the name of the Onge living god.

It was as fitting a place as any. It was a place of victory for the dozen. He hoped they were taking the time to revel in it. He needed them on their heels.

Nockwe watched from the edge of the clearing, unseen. He respected many of these “priests”. They were among the strongest and the wisest of the tribe. Tonight, eleven of the twelve would learn to respect him. One would receive a deeper revelation.

The chieftain walked briskly to the fire. There were several nervous glances in his direction. He seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, much as their god did.

Nockwe acknowledged them with a nod. The priests began their opening ritual. They had met like this many nights since Manassa had risen to power. Manassa had stopped attending them. Still, the chant to their god was protocol.

The twelve formed a close ring around the fire. One by one they chanted.

“We are the chosen.” The phrase echoed around the circle, each priest giving it voice in turn.

“Our god is the chosen.” Around it went again.

“We are the vision.”

“We stand for divine truth.”

“LONG LIVE Manassa!” they shouted in unison.

Nockwe walked inside the ring of men, circling the fire in the opposite direction of their spiraling chant. He examined the face of every priest. He cast his shadow on every member of Manassa’s inner circle. Many watched him with the deference they’d always carried for him. A couple cast the same jealous glances they’d always cast. Three amongst them were different, however. These watched him as adversaries, as equals. One was Glis. The others were Jurdan and Raol.

Nockwe weighed his options. Jurdan and Raol were on the opposite side of the fire as Glis. It would be dangerous to make assumptions. Of Glis he was certain.

“By all our traditions, Manassa is our living god,” said Nockwe in their traditional tongue. All attending spoke the dialect or at least understood it. “By all our traditions, I am your chieftain.” He twisted his head around to gauge their reactions. The priests were all around him. The fire gave no cover. The coolness of his knife hilt against his skin was reassuring. “And by the holy word of our living god, I am your head priest. Your purpose, as a priest of this order, of this inner circle of followers, is to further the tribe by furthering the vision of Manassa. For those who do this, there is abundant hope and eternal life. For those who do not, there is death and fire. And none in this ring are exempt. Those of this circle shall be first to receive both reward and punishment.”

Nockwe continued his circling. He neared Glis. He felt butterflies in his stomach, and he had to force himself to continue speaking. Something was wrong. He never got butterflies. It was not the warrior’s way.

He was not sure of what came next; he did not know if his traitors outnumbered those loyal to him. He would soon see. “No vision of Manassa includes the destruction of the tribe or its laws,” said Nockwe. “The laws of the tribe are supreme.”

He stopped circling and looked directly at Glis. “One of our laws is that no enemy shall be given quarter.” Glis tensed. Nockwe heard some rustling noise from Jurdan’s direction. It was inconsequential at this point. No matter what Jurdan did, Nockwe was too close to Glis. Loudly, Nockwe cried, “Glis, I wish to commend you, for slaying one of our movement’s enemies!”

Glis relaxed. Then his face took on a gray, slackened recognition. It was too late for him to even react.

A flash of metal by the firelight. A gurgling shriek. Glis dropped, clutching his throat.

“Glis! Nockwe!” The priests shouted to one another. No one moved toward Nockwe, though.

Nockwe shouted, “It is a higher law not to murder Onge!” He gained their silence with his volume. He met their every eye. “And it is an even higher law not to betray our god! This priest acted without authorization and without direction. A vigilante is more dangerous than a traitor. There were other killings, perhaps prompted by Glis, perhaps by others. They will not any longer be tolerated. You may meet with me in secret at any time and gain my advice. You will not act on your own!”

The priests around the circle looked frightened, every one of them. They were looking at Glis’s dead body and taking in Nockwe’s words. None of them could put up a fight against a healthy Nockwe. The limp form of Glis bleeding at his feet reinforced that.

“Manassa is god. I am his high priest. His revelations come to you only through me. Is that clear?” Nockwe asked the silent members of the Circle. They nodded.

“Lee’tep, Jurdan, Raol, and you two - you are to go now to Lisbaad with your warriors and fortify Tomy’s position immediately - tonight. The last phase of our planning is about to come to fruition. Manassa foresees events taking a quicker pace than even he predicted.” Nockwe had planned on Jurdan and Raol staying at the village, but that was no longer tenable. Lee’tep, Nockwe’s cousin, would keep an eye on them. “The rest of you are to stay here and report to me at the throne of Manassa in the morning.” Nockwe looked at Glis’s body, a bloody hole in his neck. It saddened Nockwe to see Onge blood spilt. “Give this man a proper burial. He was a servant to the tribe, and a great man. Let it be known he was investigated by the chieftain and found guilty of murder. Good night.”

Nockwe walked away. He did not check his back. He did not even wait for them to acknowledge him. He was certain of their compliance.

He was uncertain of something else. He still had the butterflies. And something with Glis’s gray face…Something wrong…