Nirvana Effect

63



Nockwe had his men begin torching the place. The village had been home for his entire living memory. The tribe never moved. An Onge never settled other lands. Home was always a thousand paces in any direction from the village center, marked by an ancient rock. The food moved, but that was why they had hunting parties. The tribe never moved.

Change. Change. Change. His mind chanted in time with his steps. He toured his village. He would have others burn it. He would not light a single straw himself. He could not bring himself to do so. And he could not get Glis’s face out of his mind.

He walked to where the white man had been staying so many moons ago. Nockwe remembered his threats to the missionary, to try to keep him from witnessing Mahanta’s coming of age. He wondered if things would have been different if Edward had never left that tent.

He walked to the open area of the village, where Dook had almost slain him. He remembered the white man’s courage. The duel would have been the end of Nockwe’s life. Nockwe knew now the white man had fought with the lightness, but he had risked his life for Nockwe still the same. The magic didn’t diminish what he did.

Or perhaps he’d fought with more than the lightness…there are whispers that he moves and fights as our god. Maybe it’s the same for him as it is for Mahant--. He corrected himself mentally. Manassa. Maybe the lightness does something different to him.

There were fires starting at the northern edge. It would only take his boys half an hour before the whole village was up in flames. They were quite efficient. They had been trained in efficiency.

Nockwe found himself at the temple. He walked inside. The throne was bare, its ornaments stripped for the erection of the secret temple on the mainland. He reflected on all his meetings with Tomy, now just Tome, and Manassa.

He walked behind the raised area with the throne. He’d only seen Manassa’s quarters a few times. He wondered what the Onge god had left to burn.

His priests had taken his mattress. They’d taken his books. The furniture, Manassa’s servants had left. Footprints were everywhere - there had been quite a few people in here emptying the room to prepare for the move.

A glint of metal caught Nockwe’s eye. It was situated in the dirt under where the mattress had been, near the wall. Curious, he picked it up. He had nothing to do until the village became ashes.

Then there will be a lot to do.

Nockwe dusted off the metal. It was a ring of sorts. It was octagonal, fashioned of polished brass. A memory flashed to his mind. It came easily; everything about Glis was too easily remembered.

Glis stands at the front of the tribe. Nockwe and the medicine man bless his marriage with whomever he so chooses, so long as she be willing. He chooses Lila. She walks to the front of the tribe. She says she is willing. The medicine man says other words. She walks away with him.

The tribe sings the marriage song. Nockwe, watching them, sees him hand her a shiny octagon. She holds it up to the light, admiring it. It is quite a fortune, quite a find. He slips it onto her finger, in the Western way. He says something to her in her ear. She smiles and kisses his cheek.

She gives a long glance to Mahanta, who stands next to Nockwe. The newlyweds leave for their hut. The tribe sings on.

Nockwe stared at the ring.

Nockwe felt as though the trinket were wrapped tight around his neck. He didn’t know how long he was stood there.

He felt heat. The temple was burning. He was tempted to throw the ring down, but instead pocketed it.

Nockwe burned far hotter than the temple. I am a fool.