Authors: Craig Gehring
Mahanta got the idea of injection from the last doctor that had visited the village, a non-denominational whom the Jesuits had set up to start a clinic. The clinic failed, but not before the doctor taught an interested youth some first aid procedures and what medicine he could grasp, including vaccinatio
n and the administration of p
enicillin.
Injected in the blood stream, the full effects of the liquid were realized.
The after-pain
.
What is it?
Edward’s mind scanned again through his whole education and experience, and threw out some possib
i
lities.
A side effect - naturally. Sensory overload? Shock? Dehydration?
It could be one or a combination of all three.
Perhaps
it’s
from the chemicals
in the sap. Perhaps they ar
e
n’
t all distilled out.
The answer, at least in part, came to him in a flash of certainty.
Nerve damage.
That was it.
He sensed it not so much from his past but rather from a se
arching examination of the present condition of his body
. There was a terrific amount of output coming from his brain, a terrific amount of electricity being handled. His nerves couldn’t handle it. They were like the muscles broken down during a
hard workout – only nerves don’t heal like muscles.
He sensed his
nerves
we
re diffusing the charge as best they c
ould
, but
it was still
too much.
It hurt, actually. The perception was too much and caused a definite pain. In trance, he was able to shut it off and ignore it. After trance, he would no longer be able to.
Thus, the after-pain.
He scanned the memor
ies
of his body’s recovery from the three injections. Somehow, his body had known to rebuild the nerves. The pain receded day by day as the nerves rebuilt.
They were not conditioned
, now
, into greater strength.
They were a bit weaker, if anything.
The after-pain was the damage caused by
too much perception
- too much current along the nerve channels.
His first hunch
, sensory overload,
was right
, but
not in the sense he’d originally meant. He was thinking psychologically, not in the raw electronics of the human body.
Is this substance lethal? Damaging?
He worried over the problem, but could find no answer. He needed more data. Certainly, his nerves weren’t back to normal, yet. Prolonged use could possibly damage his nerves beyond his ability to heal.
Any way out of the after-pain?
This question, he knew, was what should be his first line of research. Its solution wo
uld permit much more trance time
.
The problem had
many facets. He worked all of them.
Two
simple answer
s
stood above the rest that flooded his mind.
The nerves must grow stronger. Or the impact of the nirvana effect must be lessened.
A thousand
solutions
flashed to him. He picked out the best few, keeping in mind that he wouldn’t be trancing during most
of
whatever conditioning he planned. Pain shut-off would not really be an option. He rolled to his next question.
What is my plan? And Mahanta’s plan…is it true? Can Mahanta be trusted?
And perhaps a more relevant question:
Can I trust myself?
Tapping.
Something was tapping Edward’s cheek. He opened his eyes. Mahanta was slapping his face
hard
. It felt like a gentle nudge each time. Edward instantly turned his present-time perceptions back on. His face stung like hell. His arm, too; Mahanta must have pinched him there to no avail.
“Do you hear it?” asked Mahanta.
Of course he did. As soon as his perceptions were running a wealth of data came rushing to him.
A fight. A challenge.
The b
usy hubbub, the shouts as clear
as though he were
in the thick of it.
“What’s happening? I can’
t tell from here outside of trance.”
Tien. Dook.
Edward
heard their names murmured, rippling through the crowd.
“A challenge,” Edward answered. “Dook has challenged Tien. They are fighting now
. The crowd surrounds them
.”
“Dook challenged Tien?“ asked Mahanta. “I
would have thought the reverse.”
Edward furrowed his brow. It was not easy picking out single voices in the crowd, but he could do it. H
e got his answer from a conversation to a newcomer.
“Dook challenges that Tien insulted your honor and conspired with Nockwe to challenge
you
.”
“Nockwe?”
“Yes. I believe he is there,” said Edward. He did not hear Nockwe’s voice, but
rather heard a pocket of quiet in one area of the crowd.
“Dook lies, of course,” said Mahanta. “He is making his move. We must hurry.”
Mahanta sprinted out of the hut. Edward followed him. It was the first time Edward tried to
run while in trance, and
it was a bit like first learning to walk. He was
too aware
of his body, so that the curling of his feet and the pumping of his leg muscles seemed unnatural and the cause of study. He rapidly got the hang of it, and after a dozen steps was catching up with Mahanta. In the trance
Edward
was able to perfectly place his feet and push forward. He remembered Mahanta’s inhuman sprinting into the woods, as though a rocket were strapped to his back
The conflict was only fifty yards from the temple. A hundred tribesmen circled and watched.
Edward studied every one of them. He observed their stances, the way they seemed slack, almost grief-str
icken
when they looked at Tien. Those
with their eyes on
Dook had an angry tension about them.
A handful had various other reactions.
Edward noted those down as possible allies of Dook. I
t was apparent that the majority of the tribe
wanted Tien to live.
Edward and Mahanta pushed through the crowd toward the edge of the ring
of natives
. Edward examined these possible
members of Dook’s cabal
. They looked nervous, but by all signs, none of them were intending to cheat for Dook. They were only spectators today.
A woman was crying hysterically, as were a few babies.
Dook and Tien circled one another warily. No one had struck, yet. Dook had a knife in either hand, while Tien had only one long dagger. It was the same he’d tried to use on Edward just a day before.
Edward spotted that no ally was needed to cheat for Dook. Dook had already done his dirty work. Tien’s skin was a shade of green, and he shook almost imperceptibly.
Not just nerves
.
“Dook poisoned him,” Edward muttered to Mahanta.
Mahanta cursed and spit.
A trib
esman standing
next to them jerked his head
up
in Mahanta’s direction. Recognition dawned. The man backed five feet and knelt at the same time, exclaiming,
“Manassa!” He collided into several people as he
moved
.
The crowd diverted from the fight for a moment. They knelt, murmuring their god’s name. The nearest to their Manassa had a similar reaction as the first man, shocked that they had not given their god the deserved respect as he’d approached. They quickly restored a healthy distance from Manassa and his white servant.
Both Dook and Tien glanced at the disturbance, but neither stopped circling.
Dook lunged at
Tien
just as he returned his attention to the fight
, but Tien managed to sidestep the blow in the nick of time and follow up with a lick of his own. He drew blood on Dook’s dark arm.
Weakened by the poison, Tien couldn’t follow through like he needed. Dook quickly regained the initiative, swinging low to gash Tien’s shin with his left-handed knife. Tien tripped backward, crying out in surprise.
Dook charged in to make the kill. Tien was too slow in getting up. Several members of the tribe cried out.
“
At’tan! At’ta
n!
” a deep,
booming voice broke over the di
n. Dook stopped his charge quickly, as though he’d been expecting an interruption. He looked up and then smiled. Edward followed the path of his eyes to Nockwe, who looked tired more than anything else. Dook sheathed his knives and walked away from Tien to the far end of the circle.
“Nockwe intercede
s,” explained Mahana.
“
Dook
was planning this all along!” whispered Edward.
“See!” shouted Dook to the tribe. “See with your own eyes! Nockwe and Tien work together to try to kill our god.” Murmurs rippled through the crowd. They did not believe his words, but there were doubts. The Onge way was one of unwavering suspicion.
“No mortal can kill
our mighty
god,” said Nockwe, slowly, using the same deliberate pace he’d used
before
to address the crowd.
“And yet you are fool enough to try,” said Dook.
“Your tongue is full of lies, Dook
, but it
will soon be cut out,” said Nockwe.
Dook beckoned him with his hand and once again pulled out both daggers. He was making quite a show. Nockwe pulled out his own dagger, and they began to circle.
Edward now studied Nockwe. He could tell that Nockwe was moving heavily. He was not in the same shape he’d been in when guiding Edward through th
e jungle
.
He looked weary and flat-footed.
Edward was no student of war, but knew that the wrong time to be tired was with a maniac circling you with bloody daggers in his hands.
Nockwe attacked repeatedly, striking at the snakelike Dook. The chieftain’s aggression stretched to the point of incaution.
“Nockwe moves quickly. He must not feel he can withstand a drawn-out battle,” commented Mahanta unnecessarily.
Dook refused to engage him. He dodged back at every st
r
ike, refraining from taking the easy opportunities presented by Nockwe’s over-extension.
By their shouts, Edward knew the crowd was rooting for Nockwe. They wanted him to live. Yet as the battle petered on, as Nockwe’s step
further
lost its spring, the natives
tired
as well. Th
ey took on the aspect of a crowd
watch
ing
an inevitable train wreck.
Mahanta’s
explanation during their l
ast talk echoed i
n Edward’s mind
.
If Dook becomes chieftain, he will not long remain so. There will be many hungering for his blood, and many that would seek to take his place. This is a wild variable that could result in both of our deaths and the
loss of this discovery. T
he turmoil that will attain in the tribe will prevent any work from being done as chalk lines are drawn and neighbor fears neighbor until a new ruler rises. I do not have the brute force to bring such a people in line without my chieftain. Under trance I am near invincible, but I am not under trance at all hours of the day and night.
Unless something drastic happened
, Dook would kill Nockwe and become chieftain.
Dook will be
chieftain today.
That calculation was a
certainty in Edward’s mind. Already, Nockwe had stopped his lunging, had stopped even his circling, and instead just rotated in place as Dook worked around him, looking for an opening. Dook wasn’t worn at all, despite the bleeding from his left arm, and he looked ready to make his kill. Nockwe coughed spasmodically.
Dook finally leaned to make his first strike. Nockwe feigned to the left, and then swung his body savagely to the right. Dook missed him, but Nockwe caught Dook’s left arm near the first gash and again drew blood. Dook cried out and swung again, but
Nockwe ducked his blow and
kicked out with all his force, landing his foot squarely into Dook’s abdomen. The smaller man flew backwards and landed in the dirt.
All
eyes were on Dook as he flew, but then went rapidly back to Nockwe. The chieftain hadn’t gotten up from his flying kick. Instead, he trembled on the ground.