Brainrush 04 - Everlast 01: Everlast (20 page)

My senses expanded outward, stretching across the chasm
until I could feel the hatred emanating from the men around Timmy. I breathed
in the foul odors of their sweat, heard their quickened breaths, and the
anxious pounding of their hearts. These were living beings and I possessed the
power to kill them. If I didn’t, Timmy would die.

What would Dad do?

I knew from the stories I’d overheard from Dad and Tony that
killing someone changed a person forever. But I had no choice. I drew in a deep
breath...

“Wait,” Sarafina said, placing her hand on the mini.

The contact broke my concentration. I stared up at her.

“We can reason with them.”

Was it possible? I lowered my arms. What if she was right?
She was my older sister and I had always trusted her. Maybe she could sense
something I couldn’t? But I found myself shaking my head because something deep
in my stomach disagreed with her. I remembered something Dad had said:
Only
reasonable men can be reasoned with. 

The mini’s energy was inside me, anxious to burst forth and
do my bidding. I was unsure what to do. The choice was made for me when
Sarafina stepped forward and stood at the entrance to the bridge. Ahmed moved
beside her and my view was blocked. I lowered the mini as I squeezed between
them. Uncle Timmy’s eyes got huge and he was shaking his head despite the blade
at his throat. I reached out with my mind and felt his fear for our safety. I
also felt his overwhelming sense of guilt. He’d wanted to protect us and
failed.

Just then the second group of poppy guards appeared from the
front trail. They joined the others behind the boss man.

Sarafina gathered her courage. “We meant you no harm, sir.
Our plane crashed and we’re simply trying to make our way to our family. We
returned all your money and our parents will gladly pay you more if you help
us. Won’t you please release our uncle?”

The boss man hesitated a moment, as if confused. Finally, he
said, “You wish to bargain for this man...your uncle?”

Sarafina nodded, and the man said something in Chinese to
the men surrounding him. They laughed, and it brought a wide smile to the boss
man’s face.

Then he sliced Timmy’s neck from one end to the other.

A
WATERFALL
OF BLOOD
spilled from Uncle Timmy’s neck.

My sister’s scream pierced the night and echoed between the
canyon walls. Ahmed moved forward like he was shielding us from the violence,
his fists white and shaking. I collapsed. The mini and its case tumbled to the
ground as I grasped my throat, feeling Timmy’s pain like it was my own. His
fear was inside me as his blood flowed down his chest.

Then the boss man kicked Timmy over the edge.

He disappeared into the darkness and I trembled from the
depth of his terror as he fell through the air. Then his life vanished abruptly
and I was left cold and empty.

The boss man and his guards sprinted onto the bridge.

“I will not stand by any longer,” a thickly accented voice
said behind me.

We spun around and stumbled aside as a dark form appeared
from the shadows. The short figure was dressed as a monk, his features hidden
within a cowl, his brown robes seeming to merge with the shadows as he glided
past us and stood at the edge of the bridge to face the boss man and his
guards. The bridge’s thick support ropes stretched on either side of him.

 The boss man hesitated in the middle of the bridge. He held
a hand in the air and the men with him lowered their rifles. They seemed to be
conferring with one another.

My mind was assaulted by the dark sensations of Timmy’s
death. They threatened to overwhelm my own senses and I started to close off
the world like I had when I was younger. It was the tingle of energy from the
mini at my feet that kept me in the present, as if it had latched on to a part
of my mind and demanded that I pay attention to the world around me.

 “It’s been a while,” the boss man said.

“Yes,” the monk replied, standing just off the bridge with
his legs spread and his hands hidden within his robes.

“Yes?” the boss man asked. “All you have to say is
yes
?
No words of wisdom or comfort after so many years?”

“You shouldn’t have murdered that man,” the monk said. “His
blood is on your hands.”

“And what do you know of blood, dear brother?” the boss man
said, wiping each side of the bloody knife on his pant leg. “Your outdated vows
preclude you from living life to the fullest.” He turned his swollen jaw to one
side and spit. “Now remove yourself. This is no concern of yours.”

“I shall not permit you to pass.”

“You won’t
permit
us?” the boss man said with a chuckle.
“A miniature monk against nine armed men? And what of your vows?”

“I have taken many vows. A few moments ago I took another.”

“Is that so? And what vow was that?”

“To protect the children behind me.”

I felt a spark of hope from my sister and resented her for
it. She needed to get a clue. Hadn’t it been her eternal optimism that
prevented me from killing the boss man when I had the chance?

But my anger quickly soured my stomach. It wasn’t her fault
and I knew it. Blaming her was a lame attempt to make me feel better, and I
realized the emptiness caused by Timmy’s death was nothing compared to my
overpowering sense of guilt.

I could have prevented it.

The boss man said, “And what of your primary vow?”

 “Sometimes vows conflict.”

“You sicken me, brother. You’ve dedicated yourself to an
order that trains endlessly with weapons that have been used for killing for
many centuries. And yet that same order now proclaims that it is sacrilege for
your weapons to cut flesh? You won’t even butcher an animal to provide food for
your table. Do you not see the foolishness of your ways? You claim to be
overseers of the land and protectors of its resources, while in reality all you
do is huddle in your monastery and bring unrest to the population by making
flyers that speak of the ill treatment of bears. This is not worthy of the
brother I once had. Our father would be ashamed. Your life has been a waste.”

The monk pulled his cowl back, revealing a bald head that
shone in the moonlight. His skin was bronze and he appeared to be in his
fifties, with a clean-shaven face and wrinkles around his eyes and mouth that
suggested he smiled a lot.

He wasn’t smiling now.

With a sweep of his arms, his robe fell from his shoulders
to the ground. He wore an earth-colored tunic over baggy pants. The pants were
tucked into calf-high socks wrapped with elastic straps that disappeared into
moccasins. A sash crisscrossed his chest and wrapped around his waist to hold
two shimmering swords with hooked ends. His hands hung loosely at his sides.
Despite his short stature, he had a commanding presence.

The guards on the bridge stilled. Regardless of the odds
that favored them—nine men with rifles against one with swords—these men had
probably grown up listening to legends about the monks who lived on the
mountain. Monks who were seldom seen and always to be avoided. The moment
stretched, and I used the opportunity to scoop up the mini and its case. I
stuffed the case in my backpack but kept hold of the mini. I wouldn’t hesitate again
to use it. In fact, a part of me longed for the opportunity. The realization
frightened me.

“You make a pretty sight,” the boss man admitted. “But your
time has passed and we both know you are bluffing. You would sooner throw
yourself from the mountain than allow your blades to taste our flesh.” He moved
forward with confidence. The guards followed.

The monk moved in a blur of movements. He lunged with his
right foot as his arms crossed in front of his body, each hand coming away with
a sword that he swung in wide arcs over his head and downward to either side.

The blades sliced through the bridge’s first two support
ropes without slowing.

“Shoot him!” the boss man shouted. The guards at the front
raised their weapons.

But the monk never stopped moving. He maintained his
low-slung stance as his upper body twisted smoothly to one side, the spinning
blades glinting as he swept them downward through the two remaining support
ropes on his left. There were loud snaps as the taut lines gave way and the
left half of the bridge collapsed.

“Nooo!” the boss man shouted as the planks beneath his feet
dropped. He and his men abandoned their weapons and grabbed for the remaining
handrail. Several of them didn’t make it.

The monk’s upper body moved fluidly to the opposite side and
the blades followed in an arc that severed the remaining two ropes.

The bridge snapped like an overstretched rubber band,
causing the boss man and the remaining guards to lose their grips.

The monk stood motionless, his body balanced in a forward
crouch, his arms and swords extended behind his body as if cocked to swing
forward again if the need arose. His eyes were closed. The chorus of screams
from the falling men echoed up the canyon walls and sent chills up my back.
They cut off suddenly, and then the only sounds I could hear were the pounding
of my heart and the sharp intakes of breath from my sister and Ahmed.

No one moved, until the monk stood to his full height and
whipped the swords in a smooth arc and slipped them beneath his sash. Then he
folded his hands in prayer, bowed toward the chasm, and sang a chant. I didn’t
understand the words but the rhythm and tones were soothing—and filled with
pain.

Finally, the monk put on his robe and turned to face us. “I
am deeply sorry for the loss of your friend. He showed tremendous courage on
your behalf. His actions honored both himself... and you.” His look lingered on
the mini in my hand and his eyes narrowed. I reached into my pack and placed it
in its case.

“I’ve been watching you on and off since your plane
crashed,” he said. It was him I’d sensed during our trek!

“You’ve all been through quite an ordeal,” he added, “and
you performed exceptionally well in the face of extraordinary circumstances. I
only wish I’d interceded sooner. I’d thought you all were safe when you made it
across the bridge. But when your friend ran back over…” His voice trailed off.

“Thank you for saving us,” Sarafina said, wiping a tear from
her face.

Ahmed dropped to his knees at the cliff’s edge with arms
outstretched over the chasm. “To Allah we belong and to Him is our return,” he
said. It was a translated verse from the Qur’an. As he continued he switched to
his native tongue of Dari. I couldn’t understand the words, but when he
unclipped the two magazines from his belt and tossed them over the edge, I
realized that in addition to a prayer of peace for Timmy, he was also seeking
forgiveness for his own shortsightedness. He must’ve blamed himself for not
having given the ammunition to Timmy when Timmy ran back to retrieve the
weapon. Of course, I knew it wasn’t Ahmed’s fault that Timmy was dead.

It was mine.

The monk lowered himself to his knees beside my brother. He
closed his eyes and his lips formed soft words I couldn’t hear. Sarafina took
my hand and we knelt down beside them to offer our own silent prayers.

After several long minutes, we rose and stepped clear of the
edge. Ahmed turned to face the monk. “What you did just now...the way you
moved? It was as if Allah himself guided your blades. You delivered justice in
His eyes.”

The monk bowed. “I pray you are right, my son,” he said, his
eyes going distant for a moment. “I pray you are right.”

He started up the path and motioned for us to follow. “Come.
You will be safe at the monastery.”

I
T
HAD BEEN A LONG
and quiet march up the mountain, each of us lost in our
own thoughts. I couldn’t shake the emptiness I felt over Timmy’s death. Or the
guilt. Ahmed and Sarafina had given up trying to get me to talk about it after
the first hour or so, though from their glum demeanor I knew that they were
also haunted. I’d drawn into myself and they knew from experience it was no use
trying to coax me out of it. I’d not spoken a word, even when the monk had
introduced himself. His monastic name was Shi Yan Du but he’d asked us to call
him Little Star, after the nickname his mother had given him as a child.

“I may no longer use my monastic name,” he’d said without
further explanation.

The dawn sun was just peaking the mountain when we first saw
the monastery. It was breathtaking, like something out of a storybook. The
multilevel structure was perched on a huge outcrop of rock that stair-stepped
beneath the peak of the mountain, its golden, pagoda-style rooftops glimmering
under the sun, a rolling ocean of green forest surrounding it, stretching as
far as the eye could see.

“It’s beautiful,” Sarafina said.

“It has been home to my order for over fifteen hundred
years,” Little Star said. “I have lived here for forty-five years, since the
age of twelve.” He picked up the pace. “If we hurry, we will be able to join
the others for first meal.”

Thirty minutes later we were seated in a grand hall eating
with a couple dozen monks. We sat on cushions surrounding a long wooden table.
Bands of sunlight angled into one side of the room from narrow windows at the
vaulted roofline, illuminating walls adorned with ancient murals. Little Star
was seated at the other end of the table beside an elderly man with a long
white goatee and friendly eyes. He’d been introduced to us as the master of the
order, and he and Little Star were deep in hushed conversation. The topic
seemed to be Little Star’s twin swords, which had been placed on a side table.
The mood was somber, and when I looked up from time to time I caught several of
the monks casting curious glances my way. It made me feel uncomfortable so I
focused on my food.

The vegetarian meal was small but filling, and flavored with
only light spices. Ahmed sat beside me and Sarafina sat across from us. She
pushed her half-finished plate away. “I can’t stop thinking about Uncle Timmy,”
she muttered.

 I shared her feelings but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t
want to look her in the eyes. If I did, I was sure she’d see my guilt and then
a new round of questions would start. I figured as long as I kept eating,
they’d leave me alone. So I raised my bowl of soup to my lips and took a long
sip. The clear broth was hot and flavorful. There were several walnut-sized
dumplings swirling in the bottom of the bowl, and I used my finger to maneuver
one into my mouth. It had a crunchy vegetable inside. It tasted good so I slurped
in another.

“Me, either,” Ahmed said, gently pushing my sister’s plate
back in front of her. “But we must eat. We need to build our strength for
whatever lies ahead.”

She shook her head, staring at the plate with trembling
lips.

“Your brother is right,” Little Star said, sitting down
beside her.

I tilted my bowl back and two more dumplings slid into my
mouth.

“Take a lesson from Alex,” Little Star said. “He honors his
friend by enjoying his food.”

I kept my eyes buried in my bowl.

“It is normal to be sad over the loss of a loved one,”
Little Star continued. “There is a part of us that feels guilty at the prospect
of not keeping them constantly alive in our thoughts. But to embrace their
memory in every waking minute starves one’s soul. Instead, set aside a moment
of prayer each and every day to acknowledge your friend’s sacrifice and to
mourn his loss. Look forward to that moment throughout the day but do not dwell
on it. Permit yourself to smile when you think of him and recall the fond
moments of his life. Is that not what he would wish?”

Sarafina’s expression shifted ever so slightly, and I had
the sense Little Star’s words had struck a chord within her. She picked up her
chopsticks and scooped up a bite of rice.

Ahmed appeared thoughtful. “Remember what he said when he
woke up in the plane and found us sitting across from him?”

“‘Holy crap,’” she said. “He was like Uncle Marshall that
way. They both liked to say ‘holy crap.’”

“And ‘dudes,’” Ahmed added.

Sarafina’s smile was brief, but real. A piece of rice
tumbled from her lower lip.

Ahmed finished the thought. “When we were parachuting on the
pallet toward the jungle and his head popped into view, he said, ‘Dudes, I
can’t believe that worked!’”

They quieted again, and I sensed that the weight of Timmy’s
loss had eased somewhat. Little Star’s words had rung true for me, too, and I
promised myself I would say a prayer for Timmy each night. I set down my empty
soup bowl and started in on a piece of orange-colored rice cake, doing my best
to push my guilt aside.

As we ate, Little Star commented on the colorful murals
adorning the walls on the far side of the room. He pointed to several that
contained scenes of ancient Chinese battles, lines of soldiers clashing,
leather-armored warlords atop rearing horses, bloody swords slashing, archers
launching arrows from crossbows, men impaled and dying. Each scene included a
scattering of monks wielding staves, swords, and other weapons, all of them
wearing the same colored tunics as those worn by the men around the table.

“As you can see,” Little Star explained, “our history is
steeped in the practice of martial arts. Each of us trains daily, beginning
with the day of our arrival as children and ending only when age prohibits us.
When our order was established centuries ago, our vow to protect the
surrounding countryside had a far different scope than it does today. That is
the heritage my brother referred to on the bridge.”

“He was your
real
brother?” Ahmed said. “I thought he
called you brother because of your robes.”

“He was my brother, the eldest of the family.” His eyes
twitched and I realized he was pushing his sadness—and guilt—aside, just as he
had advised us to do.

He had killed his brother to save us.

Little Star continued, “Like most regions across the globe,
China was a lawless territory for much of its history. Encroaching warlords and
raiders were a common threat and we were often called upon to do battle. We
used our skills mercilessly and earned a reputation as fierce warriors.” He
pointed to a scene depicting monks fighting oddly dressed pirates. “In one
famous encounter, forty of our order joined eighty monks from other temples to
confront a formidable band of Japanese pirates. We defeated most of them in a
bloody battle and chased the stragglers toward the sea for ten days,
slaughtering them along the way until every one of them had been killed. Only
four of us lost our lives in the encounter. News of our prowess spread, and it
wasn’t long before raiders chose to seek simpler fields to harvest.”

He motioned toward the wall behind me. I followed his gaze
to discover the sun had shifted, and the wall, previously cast in shadow, had
come to life. Where the other murals spoke of battles and bloodshed, this wall
displayed the wonders of nature. It was a lush landscape of jungle, mountains,
and forest, teeming with life. There were deer, boars, monkeys, rabbits,
butterflies, birds, and other animals I didn’t recognize. But what stole my
breath was the scene that dominated the center of the wall, of a child monk
seated among a family of bears. I approached the wall and the monks stilled
behind me. I ran my fingers over the images of the bears. I was reminded of
Mama Bear and her cubs, and of the other bears being tortured in tiny cages.

Little Star walked around the table and stood beside me. “It
depicts an ancient legend of a time when bears and men were bitter enemies.
Village warriors hunted the bears to near extinction, until those remaining
joined together to fight back. Marauding bears terrorized the countryside,
tormenting villagers by stealing their children, who were never seen again.
This continued for many years, until one day a child monk was taken. Unlike the
other children, the young monk was not frightened by the bears. Instead, he
embraced them with his pure spirit, frolicking with their cubs and learning
their ways. In the end, the bears were enchanted by the child. They returned
him to his village and the monk taught his people to respect the bears rather
than hunt them, until finally man and bear learned to share the jungle in
peace.”

He placed a hand on my shoulder and guided me to the center
of the room. He waved to Ahmed and Sarafina and they joined us. Everyone else
had stopped eating to watch. I looked at the elderly monk at the head of the table.
When he smiled, a wave of warmth washed over me.

Little Star pointed at the other murals. “If you look
closely, you’ll see that our respect for the bears has been a cornerstone of
our order since the beginning.” My eyes narrowed as I studied the walls, and it
was like I was seeing the warlike pictures for the first time. Only this time I
realized there were bears hidden in every scene, huddled behind rocks, beyond
the trees, peeking from caves, always close to the monks, as if they watched
over them. In one scene, a bear ran amidst the monks as they charged the enemy,
his maw snarling.

“The bears taught us many things,” Little Star continued.
“In fact, many of the movements we use in our training are modeled after them.
But in the end, the most important lesson we learned was to appreciate life
like the villagers did in the legend. And while our order shed much blood for
most of the years of our history, we have since taken vows to leave that part
of our past behind us. We still train and practice, but we have sworn that
neither our weapons—nor our bodies—will ever again taste flesh.” He paused, and
I suspected he was reflecting on what had happened on the bridge. When he spoke
next, his words contained an undercurrent of anger. “And now the world has changed,
and raiders with spears and swords have been replaced by drug lords with
assault rifles and no regard for the sanctity of life. So we do what we can to
protect the animals that are our family. You saw what they were doing to them
on the farm.”

I looked up at him, amazed to realize he’d been watching us
even then.

“Yes, I was there,” he said. “And I shared your disgust at
what you saw. The harvesting of bile from these gentle animals is an insult
against nature.” He hesitated before adding, “I also saw what you did for the
bears outside, and my soul danced when I watched them run alongside you as you
charged to save your brother and Timmy.”

He stared at me for a moment, as if waiting for me to say
something. But I still wasn’t interested in talking.

“It’s alright,” he said, with a pat on my shoulder. “Words
aren’t necessary to communicate what is in your heart. Your true spirit is laid
bare by the friends you keep and the actions you take. I see the child monk in
you, and like him, your courage and sense of caring are there for all to see.
Even the bears witnessed it.”

The praise felt good and my face flushed.

A moment later, a young monk entered the hall bearing an old
leather suitcase and a set of keys. His eyes were moist. He bowed deeply and
handed them to Little Star. 

Little Star took the suitcase and pocketed the keys, and all
at once the monks rose and bowed toward us. Little Star returned the gesture
and the monks held the position for a long moment. When they finally rose to
face us, most of the monks at the table shared pained expressions, and an
overwhelming sense of sadness descended on the room. Sarafina and Ahmed inched
closer to me. A monk at the near side of the table captured Little Star’s gaze,
and I sensed unspoken words of friendship pass between them. Then the monk
nodded, turned, and walked solemnly from the room. One by one, the other monks
did the same, until the only one remaining was the elderly master of the order.
The moment stretched as he and Little Star looked at each another.

Finally, the old man said, “You came in peace, and you leave
in peace. Go now, Little Star, and fulfill your destiny.” His hands trembled as
he turned and left the room.

Little Star let out a long sigh. He motioned toward a table
at the far end of the room. “Better grab your packs.”

“We’re leaving?” Sarafina said. “Now?”

“I’m afraid we must.”

Ahmed said, “Wait just a minute. We have to get online
first. We need to see if our parents or any of our friends have checked in.”

“I’m sorry. Only monks are allowed beyond this room.”

“Can’t you check for us?”

He shook his head. “As I said, only monks are allowed
access.” He paused. “I am no longer a monk.”

Sarafina’s hand flew to her mouth.

“I broke my vow.”

Ahmed said, “That’s ridiculous. You saved our lives. And
besides, your blades never touched flesh. You simply cut the rope.” His
expression turned angry and he started toward the door to the monastery’s inner
recesses.

Little Star caught his arm. “You’d not make it past the next
corridor, my young friend. I’m sorry but it is not permitted.”

Ahmed glared at him. “But it’s not fair. Your blade never
touched them.”

Little Star held him fast and returned his stare.

Ahmed’s shoulders sagged. “I know,” he muttered. “It’s a
lame excuse.”

 “We must stand by the promises we make and the actions we
take,” Little Star said, releasing Ahmed’s arm. “I am saddened by the
consequences but I do not regret my actions.” His eyes grew distant. “I fully
accept the sacrifice I made. For a life without sacrifice is like a bird without
wings—where one dreams of a life fulfilled but has no means to achieve it. It
is only through sacrifice that we learn the true value of our existence.”