Nirvana Effect (17 page)

“I trust you don’t use Onge mythology to guide your life’s decisions.”

“I’ve got my own mythology for that,” retorted Edward. 
He did spy, and openly admits it.

“What brings you to
Lisbaad
, then?” asked Mahanta.

“My researches, of course,” said Edward.  “What else could bring me to
Lisbaad
?”

Mahanta was silent.

“I need equipment to continue my researches, and the advice of a doctor,” continued Edward.

“Tomy can get you what you need,” said Mahanta.

“Tomy can do nothing of the sort.  And I am sure he is already indisposed,” Edward said.  Mahanta’s eyes
froze
. 
He sought to make them
divulge nothing.  But even in their immobility they spoke volumes to Edward while in trance.  “What is more,
” Edward continued,
“
if a letter isn’t received by the
Lisbaad
church
with
in three days with my signature and code, there will be a team of Jesuits here searching for me.  While I was injured, I neglected to send
my
usual
note
through the traders.”

Mahanta’s voice took an odd, cold tone that was hard to read. 
He knows I’m peering into his soul right now.
  “That would be unfortunate,” said Mahanta.

“You see, it’s a peculiar thing, but I am very sure that such a team would be able to divine what is happening here, either by God’s direct revelation, or various other means,
whether I’m here or not.  It would be quite unfortunate if you or your people learned firsthand why the Jesuits’ leader is called a G
eneral or why we’re known as S
oldiers of Christ.”

Mahanta
got the point.

“It would be quite unfortunate for me, too,” said Edward.  “I have many hopes.  Good night, Mahanta.  Do not do something foolish just because I have some leverage.  You could hardly expect that I wouldn’t figure something out.  I’m just following your advice to the letter.  I will return in ten days, hopefully with some good news.  I will not share our secret unless you make me.  Even now, if I were to die suddenly, it is arranged that that secret be shared with a group that shouldn’t have it.  That would be unfortunate for me, unfortunate for you, and unfortunate for humanity.”

Mahanta just watched him and said nothing.  Edward moved towards the exit.  He saw Mahanta relax almost imperceptibly out of the corner of his eye.  It was the exact moment Edward had been waiting for.  Edward
turned and said
, “I do not fault your desire to have the Onge rule the Earth.”

Edward watched Mahanta’s eyes.  Mahanta
answered
, “I have no such desire.” 

Mahanta spoke truth.  Edward was convinced of it.  There was no way Mahanta could lie in front of him.  Not one minute reaction could slip by Edward’s awareness.  Mahanta was answering with total honesty.

Which only led Edward to more questions.  But there was something more important than the questions and the answers, and that was precious
initiative. 
It was his, for a fleeting moment, and he would not lose it.  Clueless, with no idea who to trust, and no sure way out of the maze, his only defense was to be unpredictable.

He left for
Lisbaad
by foot
in the dead of night.

Never tell a lie to a Seer.
  It was an axiom Mahanta had developed in his philosophical study of the drug.  It had served him well tonight.

The white Seer sees too much.  He sees further than me in some things.  He
is blind
in other areas.  He is a fool and brilliant all at
once.

So am I, I suppose.

Manassa wrote in his journal:

The Seer sees what he sees.  He believes w
hat he sees is all, yet he sees little. 
And knowing this, still he so believes.

“So it is written.”  He chuckled.  Such a maxim gave him an advantage over another Seer, unless that other Seer had also so calculated.

As a matter of fact, any random arbitrary he threw into his calculations would give him some advantage over another Seer, whether it was wise or not.  It could be “Only attack on Tuesdays,” and he could throw off the other’s calculations.

All this was hypothetical, for only two Seers walked the earth.  Eventually, Manassa knew, there would be only one Seer. 

He cursed himself for being so stupid as to involve the white man.

He could help me with the after-pain.  It is my only stumbling block.

On the other hand, he could slow everything down.

Manassa
had meditated in trance for several hours after Edward h
ad so abruptly left the village.  He had to
find
his course after the unexpected turn of events.  Manassa did not foresee any way that Edward could stop him, even if Edward completely turned on him from the moment he set foot in
Lisbaad
. 
I’
ll give him some rope and see if he can fix the after-pain
. 

It was obvious that Edward was still with him, still wanted the substance.  Otherwise
Edward
would have simply left without a confrontation.

Manassa walked out the temple’s secret exit, directly from his quarters through a hole dug out of the ground.  It let out at the edge of the jungle.  He walked toward the clearing with the ancient tree where he’d slain the panther.  He’d trapped it in a cage a few week
s before the coming of age and released it for the “show”.

It was time.  Usually, Tomy would accompany him for such an occasion, but his messenger was out on other business. 
I’ll need more messengers.

Manassa
reached his destination as the morning mist finished evaporating.  He peered out the edge of the clearing and saw several hundred of his Onge gathered.  There would be more.  Manassa had requested the presence of every man, woman and child, which would amount to well over a thousand.  It would be the largest assembly they’d had in living memory.  Even the most important of rituals did not involve
everybody
. 

Manassa watched his people, unheeded.  The
ir attention
was scattered. 
The hunters of the tribe, particularly,
seemed jittery.  They did not like sitting in the clear like that for any reason.  They knew what happened to animals that did so.  The rest
of the villagers
were involved in conversation, bored,
but not rushing to return to their toils
in the midday heat. 

Manassa bided his time, thinking over his speech.  Finally the crowd swelled to the desired size.  A couple priests of Manassa’s inner circle sounded gongs at the rear of the
assembly
. 
The
Onge turned their heads to see their god arrive. 

Manassa took that moment to scamper into the clearing and up the tree.  He perched on a branch he’d chosen the day before.  It supported his weight, and the whole mob would be able to see him easily.

“MY PEOPLE!!!” Manassa shouted to the backs of a thousand heads.  They all jerked around to see him.  A thrilled buzz swept through the crowd.  He felt its electricity.  He was in his second trance in less than twelve hours.  He would need to rest for several days after this, but his performance
here
was crucial. 

Under the trance, he could hear and process every word spoken by every one of his Onge.  He knew this crowd more than any performer had ever known his crowd.  “Manassa, he appears…he is
truly a
god…
look,
he’s in the tree
…look!
…Manassa!” they murmured to one another nervously.

Mannassa
let his cry ring out again.   “MY PEOPLE!!!”  He projected his voice so that its echo permeated the air all the way to the trees of the jungle, so that it reached the ears of every Onge in his village. 

The mob stirred as one.  “Manassa!” they sang out in unison.  That shout, given at every one of Manassa’s public appearances, never sounded as it did that day.  Triumph rang in their voices. 
Their god exuded a wave of exhileration, and the Onge rode it willingly.

Manassa knew in that instant that he had succeeded.  He had created his image. 
Now it was time.

“YOU ARE THE CHOSEN!” Manassa shouted out from the tree top.

“AS ARE YOU, OUR LIVING GOD!!!” 
They
didn’t stop yelling after that.  They shouted and clapped furiously
, stomping
and s
i
ng
ing
.  The youth
cut loose from their parents and ran to one another, jumping and pointing in excitement.
  They cried out his name.  Manassa felt the tree sway with all the stomping and shaking on the ground.

It was an interminable time before the Onge began to notice that their leader had said nothing further, but rather stood patiently in his tree watching over his people. 
One by one, the exultation of the Onge settled into rapt attention. 

Manassa took in the eyes of every
one of his villagers
.  Every face would guide his speech.  He would change the very fabric of Onge culture in this moment.

When Manassa started spe
aking again, his voice was calm and
clear.  He modulated his volume until the last person at the back of the clearing, standing in the path, could hear him perfectly, but no more.  He wasn’t yelling.  He didn’t even sound like he was making a speech. 
He was sharing a deeply personal communication with his people.  “My people, beloved, I have brought you here today, on the grounds where I sh
e
d my mortal skin, that I might share with you my vision.”

He heard some of the villagers say, “Tell us…Tell us…Tell us your vision.”  Their wide eyes, their bated breath, spoke more loudly to Manassa.

“I was born with a vision,” he continued.  “It is a godly vision.  Yet it is a vision that I am sure you have seen, too.  Every Onge has a touch of holiness in him; else we would not be guarded by the Watcher, else I would not have grown here as the seed of our Creator.

“In this god-sent future, I saw myself at the throne, I saw myself chieftain.”  He saw nods of agreement, a couple uncomfortable glances to Nockwe, who was standing near the front of the crowd.  They had all had that vision, even the women, Manassa was sure.  It was
in their upbringing
. 

Manassa pressed on: “But I was not myself in this dream; I was the tribe.  And the tribe I ruled was not this tribe, but rather all the tribes of the earth and sea.”  The crowd was silent, now.  He read their faces.  They dared not hope; though they knew the prophecies of Manassa, they dared not hope.

Manassa shifted in the trees.  “I knew it was a godly vision, for it was one that any mortal would have rejected.  You, my
people, rejected it, though you’
ve seen it
yourselves
countless times.  You look at the people of other lands, with their powerful weapons and incomprehensible culture.  The greatest of you f
elt
threatened and inef
fective; the weakest of you felt
inferior.  All of you are forgiven for f
orgetting what it means to be
Onge.  Mortal vessels cannot hold immortal treasure.
”

Manassa let his voice begin a slow crescendo.  “But now is the time for me, the Onge child-eternal, to give you back the treasure yo
u dreamed of but let slip from your grasp!
”

They were nodding agreement.  The younger men were sold.  Still, he knew he’d have to win the elders.  He had to win everybody.  “How could a thousand men, women and children
come to lead
the world?” asked Manassa.  “How could we have prosperity, and never starve, and never be sick, and never die?”  Murmuring erupted in the crowd.  Excitement bubbled over, even amongst the older men.  It was another of the prophecies of Manassa. 

Manassa let the buzz lull before he continued.  “I ask you another question, far more relevant. 
HOW COULD WE NOT!?” 
He shouted, giving the crowd permission to go wild.  They did so.

“It is this god’s vision.  So it shall come to pass,” he said, but no one could hear him.  It was a long time before he could speak again.

When he did so, he spoke a little quieter, so that the Onge in the back had to quiet and strain their ears.  “My people, o
ur heroes of old all had powers and abilities.  Some
called down lightning to defeat their adversaries.  Others rode chariots from the heavens. 
We will need such a weapon.