Nirvana Effect (25 page)

She stopped the car at her house.  He didn’t see it - his line of vision stopped at the dashboard.  Not that he even saw the dashboard.

She continued.  “That day, I knew that day would come.”  He heard her voice beginning to crack. 
She
still
had
her cheerful intonation, but under that
rode
an edge that made every syllable waver.  “That day came, and you asked me, and I thought the word, ‘yes’.  And with that
one word
, the whole web of my life shook, it crumbled, it disintegrated.  And I was left holding one single drop of dew.  And I panicked.  And I dropped it.”  She sobbed.  He heard her sobbing.  Nothing else was real.  He was back at Oxford sitting in his car with her.  He groped for her hand and gripped it tightly.  He was sobbing, heaving for breath.  He couldn’t look at her.  He sensed she was crying, too, that she was looking at him, but he couldn’t think about it.  There was too much to think about.  Her hand dug into his.

They both finally stopped crying.  He didn’t let go of her hand.  The sky reddened into darkness. 
It was much later
when she said, “If I had known that dropping you once was dropping you forever, I’d have never let go.  I’d have never said no.  I was afraid, but that was worse.  Far worse.  That was torture.” 

She didn’t cry anymore.  She just told him that and rubbed his hand.  She sounded exhausted. 

Each
syllable
of what she said
echoed a hundred times inside Edward’s skull.  He played them over and over in his mind.  Over and over again he replayed the whole car ride.

In half an hour, she
had vaporized h
is life’
s big question mark.  The nirvana effect had started it and she thoroughly finished the job.

He reflected ironically that every constant in his life had become a variable now that his variable, his question mark, had become a constant.

He answered her silently with his thoughts - words he would not utter.  They were words that would bind her path to his.  It was his own monologue, one he coul
d not voice to the windshield.

Callista, Callista.  When I decided to become a priest, I felt free.  After having gone through the darkest hour of a storm at sea, it was
like
I had seen the first glimmer of light on the horizon.  I closed that chapter of my life, shut out the chapter of you.  Every meditation, every exercise I went through in my training as a priest, I oriented to forgetting you and my dreams, to expunging every emotion I carried for you, to disciplining my mind from wandering to you.  The sharp discipline of the Jesuit order was far easier than dwelling on you, than being stuck on maybe.

His mind wandered. 
If only you hadn’t rebuked me so sharply, so quickly.  I’d have still held hope…

But it was a false freedom.  It was freedom in a prison cell.  It was freedom from the out
side world, and freedom from my
dreams.  

Now he had a choking, claustrophobic feeling, as though the walls of the car might threaten to close in and smother him.  He’d never felt more trapped.  She turned to look at him
, wiping her own eyes as she did so
.  She reached to wipe his.  He let her.

“I’m sorry,” she said
with her hand still on his cheek, making sure he was looking dire
ctly into her eyes.

“I’m sorry, too,” said Edward.  Everything he’d thought, he poured into those words.  He wanted to say all of it.

It’s too dangerous.  There are no passenger cars on this runaway train.

She can’t come with me.

Slowly, the skills that had let him survive this long without her came back to him.  He closed his mind and took control of his breathing.  It was far easier now than it would have been even a month ago.  He pulled himself together.  He looked at her.  She looked brighter.  She was watching him, as though waiting for him to say something.

“Thank you for telling me that,” said Edward.  “There is a lot I need to say, too.  I just, well…” 
I just can’t say any of it.  Except…
“Thank you, Callista, for giving me the happiest years of my life.”

She smiled.  “Thank you.”  She turned her head away, breathed deeply, and then turned to face him.  “Thank you for listening.  I needed to get it all out.  I feel a lot better.  All right,” she said.  She didn’t sound a lot better.  “So, a tablet, you say?”

“Yes, right.  I need to make a tablet.” 
Or maybe just run away with you to Italy.

“What is it all for?” she asked.

“Nothing I can really tell you about.  I would love to, actually.  I can’t tell you how much I’d
love to tell you
about it.  It’s just…”

“Secret?” she asked.

“It’s nothing illegal or a vice or anything.  It’s just something that needs to stay utterly confidential.  As in, only I know of it.”

She peered at him strangely.  He held some semblance of a poker face.  She
shrugged.  “Well, all right.  Let’s make a pill
.”  She led him into her house.

The twelve chosen priests of the inner circle stood
a
round 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
t
he 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 cas
t 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,” s
aid
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 wa
s not sure of what came next; h
e 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 slayin
g 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 i
t 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…

With Callista’s assistance, it was only a matter of a few hours for Edward to
isolate the active ingredient in
the substance.  The agent was an extremely soluble compound bound up with a liquid that was at least half
the culprit for the after-pain.  This unnecessary
liquid
was similar in structure to caffeine, but obviously had a lot more kick.

Edward
picked over his memory for the sensation of the “upper”.  It was there, definitely, but had nothing to do with the positive effects of the substance.  It just taxed the nerves heavily.
  Just the fact of purifying the substance would reduce the after-effects.

The simpler matter of tabletizing the drug took far less time.

Edward and Callista skillfully
limited their
conversation to the task at hand.  Edward, for one, was glad to be on a much more manageable subject.

“What do you want to call it?” she asked.

“Hmm?”

“Well, we can call it T or Z.  I don’t have 2 flat ends of the pill presser, just one.  And two ends with letters.”

“Why T and Z?”

“It was supposed to come with every lette
r, but the person I got it from -
let’s just say
they don’t
take returns.”

“Well, if I’ve got to have a letter on it, give it a T,” said Edward. 
For trance.  Trance pill.

She pressed the first pill.