CHAPTER 18
Remembering him
“Ayushi, you must eat, or you will get ill. Why must I tell you this all the time, child?”
“Mama, you yourself have hardly eaten. Everyone is saying that you have lost so much weight since—” Ayushi’s head dipped to face the ground, and her tone softened. “Since he left.”
“That boy! I knew he would give me trouble. That he’d be the death of me. He finally left me—he left us,” Mama sobbed, resting a heavy hand against the door. “I remember so well that day he was first given to me. He was a cheeky little boy. The old man said he was a good child, and that he had a great destiny ahead of him.” She sniffed and released a hint of a chuckle under her breath. “Destiny or not, I knew I’d have trouble straightening him out. I could hardly catch him when he was naughty—it was like trying to catch a mouse.”
Ayushi missed how Johannan explained their surroundings with such passion; everything was beautiful as long as they were together. She could feel herself taking deep breaths.
“Mama, you mustn’t cry—he will return one day. He must, Joha—”
“I told you not to say that name around me!” shouted Mama. “He’s gone and left us. Everyone has their sons at home now, working and tending to the animals, and what do we have?”
“Mama, you mustn’t do this to yourself.”
“You think I haven’t heard you crying at night? Trying not to worry me, but failing miserably in your attempt to do so!” Ayushi jumped as Mama pounded her fists against the table. “I have a fool of a son, who abandons his family and wanders across the muddy plains, God knows where, in search of things that don’t exist.” She shook her head. “He could be dying of starvation. Or worse, he could be . . .”
Mama tried to regain control of herself and Ayushi. Every time she thought about her mischievous boy, it drained the strength from her to stand and robbed her of her appetite.
“Every time I cooked, I knew he would steal the meat when I wasn’t looking, so I’d pretend I didn’t know, and I’d put extra in the pot, just for him.”
“Mama, we have to believe that he is well. He is very strong—do you remember the time he climbed up the tree, and you couldn’t get him down?”
“Goodness! He fell and hurt himself. I was so angry with him I wanted to hit him for days, but I couldn’t. It hurt me to see him crying like that. He ran and hugged me so tight. My boy, he knew the way to my heart, past all of the anger.”
“But he survived, Mama—he survived! He is much stronger than you are letting yourself believe. That strength gives me hope. I know he will come back to us.”
“I remember when I was younger, washing my clothes in the river, and an old man from China said he had found him and left him with me. He was such a rude child—he stuck his tongue out and ran to hide behind the man.” Mama stared out the door to watch the children as they were chasing the chickens in the village. “I thought I could knead that stubbornness out of him. I didn’t like his name, and I wanted to change it—it sounded so foreign—but that old man was against it.”
“His name doesn’t even sound Chinese. Do you remember him well—the old man, that is?”
“It was years after when he brought you to me, carrying you in a basket strapped to his back. He said that you two children together were special, and that you could change the world. I actually thought you were orphans from some royal household or something like that. I suppose the bond you shared was special enough.”
“Mama, who was that man? I try, but I don’t remember him.”
“He was just a friendly traveller from somewhere in mainland China. Never said his name, and I never asked. He had a very deep tone in his voice, very manly.”
“What did he look like?”
“He had long hair and wore one of those sedge hats. It was so wide I remember it covering you both from the sun.”
Mama thought about Johannan but couldn’t bring herself to say his name. She laughed as though she remembered a joke. “When I first took you in, you wouldn’t talk to me or eat unless he was there, and I had to ask him the questions I wanted to ask you because you wouldn’t speak to me at all.”
Ayushi smiled; he was always there for her, right from the start.
CHAPTER 19
Stand to your feet!
The village became a scene of pandemonium, shouting men, and screaming women. Johannan’s trembling hands were a physical testimony to the untamed fear moving inside him. He still snatched the opportunity to search for an opening in the gathering.
Just past the uneven wall of hate-filled faces, he managed to catch a glimpse of the man with the sky-blue hair. A brief moment of eye contact implied that he was monitoring the situation. He maintained an even pace around the outskirts of the throng. Oblivious, the people didn’t notice him. It was at that point Johannan realised something: he was the only person who could see the man. He was invisible to everyone else, a spirit of some sort.
Is he going to help me? There wouldn’t be much point of him being here if he isn’t.
The man positioned himself, so that Johannan could see above his shoulders. He smiled a soft smile, a type of smile that said to Johannan, “Don’t worry, this is part of the plan.”
“Behold, Son of Nepal. The Master is upon you.” A familiar tone overpowered the cruel suggestions and curses of the people, but they didn’t seem to respond.
The people can’t hear him either, only I.
The man waved his hand with an elegance that exposed a form of nobility as his image dissolved into the atmosphere. “Look up, Son of Nepal.”
Ignoring the storming words of the throng, Johannan fixed his brown eyes to the sky. He flinched when he sighted a shimmering boulder of light about to fall on him. He covered his closing eyes with the inside of his elbow; he couldn’t escape in time.
Moments later, an exchange of screeches and gasps harmonized a sonata of dismay.
“L-look, his hair. Can you see that? It’s changing colour,” shrieked a voice in a startling tone.
“His entire head is changing. It—it’s white, like the colour of lightning!” said another.
Those words reminded Johannan of what took place on the mountain when he stood before the Muhandae. He gulped in a failing attempt to swallow his unease. He remembered the resounding words of that great lion, “It will come to pass that whenever I am nearby or with you, the authority of the Soburin will rest upon your frame.”
The voices of the villagers faded to a silence only attained by human absence. The progress of a tender draft caressed Johannan’s cheeks, and its eerie wails stole the quietness. He released the tight hold his eyelids had on his vision.
“Where am I?” The scenery had changed—he was back on that great mountain in the desert where he first met the Soburin and the Muhandae. “Impossible! What am I doing here?”
He stared up into the night sky, and on a cloud before him, with long, flowing hair as bright as the moon itself, stood the Soburin.
His heart raced, but nonetheless he was saved! Finally, the Great Spirit had come through for him.
“Johannan, Son of Nepal, stand to your feet.”
Johannan stood up with deep feelings of gratitude. A sensation of relief had energized him.
“I thank you for saving me, my Master. Thanks to you!” He tucked his stomach and bowed with his most generous form of politeness.
The Soburin reciprocated with a worried demeanour. Johannan failed to comprehend what it meant.
“Saved you?” echoed the Soburin as he angled forward to get a closer look at Johannan. “Rejoice not, you are not delivered yet.”
Johannan was bewildered. He shook his head; that uninvited voice within him was telling him to expect the worst. “Surely I am safe, Master, I am far from that evil village of thieves and murderers.”
The Soburin expressed a tender smile, “We are still in the village, Johannan. I have summoned you here to instruct you on what you must
do next.”
Disappointment clamped his teeth to a bite so tight the sides of his jaws hardened. He had assumed that he was rid of that horrible horde and their foul-smelling village. But how? How is it possible to be here in the desert and be in the village at the same time?
His inner voice answered after scanning his experiences for an explanation. This is impossible, none of it makes sense.
The Soburin’s expression responded to his thoughts. “Son of Nepal, I am in your heart, your very soul, where all your memories dwell. This mountain, because of our meeting, lives in your heart, and I have called you here to instruct you on what you must do next. When you awaken, you will return to the very moment you remembered last.”
The Soburin raised his voice to a volume so intense that even the mountain rocks rolled. “When you return, you must lift both hands to the heavens and take hold of the reins of judgment and destruction.”
These were not the words Johannan had desired to hear. He shook his head, “No, Master, please don’t do this.” He retreated a few steps and threw his head into his palms to hide his eyes from the distracting glare. “You can’t send me back, you just can’t!”
The Soburin’s eyes reciprocated by burning brighter. “Johannan, do as you have been instructed, and you will witness the might of the Muhandae.”
The omnipresent roar of the great lion exploded as he finished, testifying its agreement with the words of the Soburin. The Soburin gazed into the heavens. The columns of light emanating from his eyes were like shooting stars on a clear night.
“Take hold of the reins of power and call him down,” he said in a fading tone.
Johannan surrendered the idea of not returning. He inhaled the deep regret, and in the blink of an eye, he was back in the village, standing before the faces of uncharted terror and fear.
The threats of death that were once filled with anger and enmity were now shrills of dread and trepidation. The people surrounded him, keeping their distance as they would to a wild beast that had strayed into the village and put everyone’s safety at risk. The scrapes of bare feet to the earth pushed the prisoners into a heap against the cage bars.
Readied spears, knives, pots, and pans trembled with the threats of death. The village leader stood in front of the villagers, panting with a festering anger that indicated he could attack anytime soon. You would have never thought it possible for the leader’s once stern demeanour to transform into something far more grisly. The villagers began to reveal their concerns.
“His eyes, they too have changed colour!”
“Do you think he is a demon or some sort of sorcerer?”
“We don’t care what he is! I say, let us kill him before he puts a curse on us!”
Johannan felt lightheaded; his throat tightened, he was almost gasping for air, and he could feel a tremble travelling up his legs, drawing on his strength to stand. Then he heard the stretched voice of the Soburin, echoing from within him. “Take hold of the reins, Johannan.”
He stretched his hands towards the heavens, and the mob flinched; they were just as frightened as Johannan. A soft, stretched hiss made way for the abundance of whispers.
“What is he doing?”
“He’s trying to put a curse on us?”
He could hear a few distinct tones airing their thoughts. He was lost as to how all this was going to end. He wiped the setting blood from his mouth, a sharp pain from a cut on his lip pushed his thoughts.
This judgment and destruction was a delayed retribution these wicked people deserved.
“Now the time has come. Son of Nepal, lower your hands and unleash the power of the Muhandae.”
Johannan dropped his hands to his sides, watching out for anything out of the ordinary. He stood there, with a frown of expectancy. Now what?
The disheartening peal of the world-shattering horn returned. The villagers’ attention diverted to the sky. Johannan angled himself to view the heavens. The horizon began to transform into extending veins of furious greys. The people saw them closing in from all angles. Johannan shared their feelings of distress.
“M-Master, I really hope that this is you,” he said in a tone only he could hear. The coarse outlines of mottled greys swirled and pivoted to surround the village, forming a circular window that revealed the fading blueness of the ether.
CHAPTER 20
The sorcerer
The ground-shaking noise subsided, and the clouds remained still but eerily animated. They bubbled like the waters that climbed up the shorelines of the coast. The people’s attention went back to Johannan—they were distressed, he could see it.
“Is this your doing, young traveller? What have you done, boy?” said the village leader.
Johannan’s breathing became rapid, his head trembled, and he peered into both of his hands. I didn’t do this. I just did what the Master told me to do. How do I explain this?
He attempted to gulp, but his throat was too dry. He waved his hands, “Please, I have done nothing wrong.”
“You call this nothing, sorcerer?” Flecks of saliva launched from the man’s mouth. He grabbed his spear, but it snapped in his grasp; the wood appeared to be years rotten. His eyes widened with complete abandon, and he launched himself into Johannan, striking him across the face.
Like flashing sunlight in a moving mirror, a wave of radiance travelled from the roots of Johannan’s hair and disappeared at the tip. He didn’t feel the sting of the strike, almost as if he hadn’t been attacked at all, as if the enraged leader had struck someone else. Not long after, the leader threw himself to the ground, howling in agony.
“My arm! What have you done to my arm, sorcerer?” he rolled around as a man would if he was on fire. “Help me, help me. The fire, it’s burning me!”
The guards rushed over. They couldn’t see any fire, his words confused them.
“Get this coat off me!”
The guards removed his coat, and the entire village shrieked in dread. His arms were covered in red bulbous sores, his flesh beginning to decay before them. The guard holding his coat quickly threw it to the ground.
The land began to shake. It sounded like the entire mountain dislodged, and everyone began to feel a sensation of falling. A worm-like cloud started to dive from the bubbling greys, swirling downward like a spiralling coil. The voice of the Muhandae crippled the firmament with a noise no words could describe.
“Wenling and Hong—did I not tell you that this day would come? Against my council, you have failed to expel your murderous son. And now I will visit utter destruction on the womb of Wenling. I will wipe you away from the body of the earth as you have done to the innocent.” The winding cloud reached ground level and dispersed with a great gale. The atmosphere became tinted as though it was overshadowed by something huge.
“The pain you have caused calls to me for justice, and I can no longer abide with it.”
A thick mist crawled against the ground, bringing with it months of decay within minutes. Sores and sickness began to appear on the villagers as it touched them, and though they ran from it, it eventually caught up. The animals and the vegetation withered. Johannan saw what this terrible mist had brought with it, and his heart began to ache for his enemies. He had no idea that this “judgment” the Soburin had spoken of would be this dreadful. The trees, the animals and pets— nothing was exempt. Johannan had to watch the children suffer. He kept drying his face, but the tears kept flowing. He knew the children had done bad things, but hearing them scream the way they did made him wish that this had never happened. If he had never left Nepal, if he had never gone to the desert, these children would still be alive.
The mist began to surround the prison, and the bars began to corrode as they swirled up the metal pillars like vines. Shouts of fear came from the prisoners. Johannan gasped and covered his eyes.
“No, Master! Don’t do this horrible thing. Please—they were with me.”
The bubbling mists paused; it was as th
ough it had heard Johannan and honoured his request. The crawling fog divided its body, like a sheet torn in two. It formed a pathway that led from the cage to the outside of the village.
Seeing this, Johannan knew that the Muhandae had listened to him. He was letting the prisoners go, but they just stood there, frozen with fear and hoarse from all the shouting.
Johannan knew he had to help them. He drew closer to the cage, and the shouts of terror increased. The prisoners picked up what they could from the ground, pebbles and handfuls of dirt, ready to throw at him.
“Stay back! We warn you, sorcerer!”
A puff of dust dispersed as one threw a handful of pebbles at Johannan. Johannan paused in his steps, his lip trembled, “This wasn’t me, I didn’t do this, brothers—please.”
“We are not your brothers, demon!” a venomous howl retorted from the cage.
He fell to his knees and streams of regret flowed from his face. “Why—why is this happening to me?”
Something touched the heart of one of the prisoners when Johannan fell to the ground. He remembered his son, about the same age as Johannan.
“He is just a child, no older than my eldest son at home.” The prisoner dislodged himself from the cluster of bodies and inched over to Johannan.
“No, get back, you fool—he’ll burn you alive with his evil powers of sorcery!”
The man ignored them and knelt down beside Johannan. He took ahold of his hands.
“I have a boy just like you at home. You reminded me of him just now.” The man took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I miss him so, so much, with all my heart.”
Johannan sobbed, “I-I have not done this to these people. This is the doing of my Master.”
“Your Master?” Johannan could feel the vibrations of fear travelling through the man’s hands. “That voice belonged to your Master?”
“I b-begged him to spare you,” said Johannan, holding his head down. He pointed towards the village’s exit. “This pathway that he opened up will take you to the outside of the village. Take the others with you and go quickly.”