The Previously Undead Sachen Lama

     “Pomdrakpa, the whole idea of karma rubs me the wrong way.  The future is yet to be determined.  Why is this poisonous idea all you think about?”  Asked Abhiseleka.

     Pomdrakpa rubbed his chin.  “Why do you always insist that you be the cause?  Can’t good things happen without your interference?  You have always trusted yourself too much, and the Immutable Law of karma too little,” replied Pomdrakpa.

     “That may be the case, Pomdrakpa, but I cannot let this go,” he said.  “Matangi is the only mother I have ever known.  Kimiya, you must turn this carriage around,” he said.  They were descending the valley, moving further and further away from her.  

     “If it is possible to help her, Abhiseleka, we must take this next step.  There is a debt owed to you that we must collect,” she said.  She looked over at Pomdrakpa and nodded.  Then he pulled his mala necklace out and began to twirl it.  His mumbling was annoying at first.  As he continued however, the sound of his mantra muttering started to resemble a tanpura somehow.  

     Abhiseleka looked straight at the rocky path ahead.  They continued to descend into the valley.  It was green and vast, stretching out toward the horizon.  It made him think of things that end, like the lifespans of human beings.  A friend died once, old Fariduddin the poet.  Abhiseleka thought of him and his expiration.  His voice was electric when he was alive, his brain quick as molten gold.  Now he was gone, just like Matangi.  

     These people deserted him, and he ran out on them too.  It was eating at him.  His life was entrusted to two people he did not know.  Neither Pomdrakpa nor Kimiya were coming across warm and fuzzy.  On the contrary, they were hard taskmasters.  Pomdrakpa was downright abusive.

     The further they went, the longer he listened to Pomdrakpa’s tanpura mantra, the madder he became.  Pomdrakpa keeps talking about Karma.  What if he believes I owe him something?  Kimiya as well, she claims I abandoned her.  They were crazy, delivering him to his doom.  He wanted to speak, but Pomdrakpa’s mantra was very meditative.  

     Abhiseleka felt as if his head and his mind were forcefully faced forwards.  He imagined Matangi held him in her arms like a baby and a tear rolled down his cheek.  She is gone.  And it’s all my fault.  He thought. 

     For a long time they continued down the mountainside.   The deep resonant mantra echoed off of the rugged rock formations and preceded them on the path.  Kimiya brought the reins down on the horses.  She put her hand over Pomdrakpa’s heart and he stopped singing immediately.  The echoes continued for a while, then it was a loud silence and the blowing wind.  Some raptor flew high overhead and screeched.  Kimiya cocked her head to the side and listened to the wind.

     “You don’t hear that, do you?”  She asked.  She received blank stares in return.  “All you men hear are your damn mantras; This is precisely why life eludes you.  A man is pain, and neither one of you bodhisattvas hear him.  Keep your mantra to yourself.  I am listening,” she said.  It was quiet, almost like it came from some place deep inside her own mind.  But it was clear, the man said only one thing, “Kamapa,” over and over.  He wanted release.  He was obviously in some kind of prison.  She drove towards the sound of his voice.

     The road down forked to the right, but a smaller path took the carriage to the left, into  a deep jungle.  Pomdrakpa looked at Abhiseleka.  Abhiseleka looked at Pomdrakpa.  They remembered the cannibals at the Dakshinakali temple.  

     “I don’t care what either of you say.  You’re not getting out of this, Karmapa,” she said.  By now, the voice of the pained man was loud.  Abhiseleka and Pomdrakpa heard it echoing the way the Tibetan song had been just minutes ago.  It was, however, not soothing.  It was a call to immediate action, action that had been long delayed.  Just as sudden as it started, the voice stopped.  

     Kimiya stopped the horses.  “Now, what do we do?  The voice stopped,” she said.  The other two were relieved, yet still anticipating the trick Kimiya had in store for them.  

     “Karmapa!  I know you’re out there.”  The man’s voice emanated from a small opening in the rock, framed in by tree roots.  Kimiya pulled the horses to a large tree and tied the reins.  She dismounted the carriage and looked at them.

     “Let’s go,” she said, “he needs our help.”  The men stayed until she gave them a burning look.  Then they jumped all over themselves exiting the carriage.  They stood in front of the hole.  It was silent.  “He’s asking for you,” she said, “I think you should go first as a consequence.”  Abhiseleka looked at her with tears in his eyes.  

     “I don’t want to go in there,” he said.  He buried his head in Kimiya’s chest and she patted him.  One eye was exposed and it winked at Pomdrakpa.

     “He winked at me,” he said.  

     “Pomdrakpa, you are the grown man here,” she said.

     “The voice is asking for the Karmapa.  That is clearly Abhiseleka.  Why should I travel down that hole at all?”  He asked.

     “You are the Karmapa’s Guru, Lord and Lama,” she said.  “While he’s still a child, you are his representative on Earth.  Pomdrakpa, I need you to see what’s down there before we send Abhiseleka,” she said.  

     He asked no more questions, but sat down where he was and faced in the direction of the hole.  He closed his eyes and listened.  Kimiya and Abhiseleka just waited, sticking with her plan for Pomdrakpa to blaze the trail down into the earth.  

     He was still sitting, facing the tree with his eyes closed, and a smile crept over his face.  

     “There is a lama in there.  He is extraordinarily old,” he said.

     “Why is he asking for me?”  Asked Abhiseleka.  Pomdrakpa still had his eyes closed.  

     “He’s asking for no one; the man inside that cave is in the deepest samadhi possible.  He is just on the brink of death,” he replied.  He opened his eyes and shook himself awake.  “There’s nothing to worry about down there.  On the contrary, a miracle is occurring in this cave.  This man is one of the undead.  I don’t know where the rest of him dwells, but it is not inside the body,” he said.

     Abhiseleka felt cold inside and out.  He began to shiver.  Kimiya held him close to her.  She was so warm and nurturing, just for a moment.  Then she pushed Abhiseleka away from her, and bent down so she was at his eye level.

     “I saw what Pomdrakpa saw.  There is no danger.  It’s time, Abhiseleka,” she said.  She looked at the hole, then to Abhiseleka, raising her eyebrow.  The cold feeling was shattering his insides.  He didn’t speak, and began walking over.  Finally, the voice came clear for him.  

     “Karmapa, I thought you would never come,” he said.  Guilt washed over him.  A faded recollection that smelled dusty tickled his nose.  It was thick with the grime of butter and smelly lama incense.  He knelt down on the ground at the entrance and put his head through.  There was a faint glow that brightened when he did.  The light was pulsating, feeding off of Abhiseleka’s thoughts.  It got brighter as his emotion rose, then dimmed as it fell.  He played with that for a moment, then was interrupted by the extraordinarily loud voice of the man in pain.

     “Karmapa, are you just going to stand there?  Free me!”  He said.  It knocked Abhiseleka flat onto his back, and his flesh froze on his body with goosebumps.  An apparition appeared.  The man was in a red robe, holding a begging bowl in one hand and a mala in the other.  He looked over at the glowing orb at the center of the cave and saw an emaciated bag of bones, seated in an upright posture, unmoving.

     Abhiseleka was petrified.  All color had disappeared from his face and his pulse was fast and shallow.  

     “You don’t remember, do you Karmapa?  You can stop with the act; you are still accountable for what you did.  We had an agreement,” he said.

     “Yes, an agreement that I upheld.  I owe you nothing.  You are slime, and you’re in the right place,” said Abhiseleka.  The ghost transfigured himself into a vicious demon.  Blood dripped from his fangs and long yak horns sprouted from his head.  

     “Your imaginary friends don’t scare me, Sachen,” replied Abhiseleka.  “You are harmless now, but you were not then,” he said.  Abhiseleka felt powerful, all knowing, but he did not know how.  It was as if some force had possessed his body.  He approached Sachen and looked down at him with eyes narrowed to slits.  He was not a demon or wrathful deity.  This was a gentle man.  Abhiseleka could not deny it.

     “I am reformed, and anyway, I am dead.  It’s time to let me go,” said Sachen.  Abhiseleka looked up at the light spilling in from the entrance.  He was torn.  Part of him, the all knowing part, said to ignore his pleas.  His humanity knew he could not.  

     “I don’t know what to do,” said Abhiseleka.  Kimiya’s face appeared in the entrance, surrounded by light.  She looked like an angel.  Her face transfigured into Matangi’s.

     “Just do the right thing and everyone wins, my son,” she said.  Abhiseleka stared at her face.  Her words echoed through the cave and his mind.  Matangi wants this man freed; I’m overriding this demon inside me.  He thought.

     He turned to Sachen Lama and bowed his head and hands to him, in respect.  Sachen approached Abhiseleka and extended his arm.  He held a simple wooden mala, with a metal svastika on the end.  Abhiseleka reached to take it from him.  Sachen’s arm passed through Abhiseleka’s flesh but the mala did not.  It began to heat up in his hand, and the svastika on the end emanated light of all the colors of the rainbow.  The seated corpse in the center of the cave was steaming and the sphere of light surrounding him intensified.  The entire cave was filled with light.  Sachen Lama’s apparition fell onto his face in a full prostration towards Abhiseleka.

     Abhiseleka prostrated himself as well.  The crows of their heads touched.  When they did, the light stopped.  It was darkness in the cave, except the light that split the dust that now filled the air.  In his right hand, Abhiseleka still held the wooden svastika mala necklace.  The icon on the end was still glowing, and as Abhiseleka noticed it, the glow intensified.  He held it out in front of him and walked over to the center of the cave, where the Sachen Lama’s body was imprisoned.  The light revealed a pile of dust, a moth eaten faded red robe, fingernails, and a desiccated skeleton.  There were a few long beads with strange circular designs on them.  Abhiseleka picked through the dust and got them.  He held the beads in the palm of his hand and the glowing mala in the other.  He blew the dust off of them.  They seemed to have a different sort of glow altogether.

     He made his way to and through the entrance to the delicious fresh air above.  It smelled sweet compared to the smell of the decayed lama, sweeter than it ever had.

Kimiya and Pomdrakpa were sitting in the carriage, passing the pipe between each other, loaded with the soma mixture.  They were discussing the weather. 

     “The passes will already be snowy.  We may need a sherpa to help us through,” said Kimiya.  Pomdrakpa wrinkled his nose.

     “Do you know how many times I have navigated through here?”  He asked.  He waved his hand, east to west, then west to east.  “More than I can count,” he said.

     “This is my concern,” she said, and pulled the pipe from his hand, “you have become pompous in your new role.  I’ve seen how you’re training Abhiseleka.  It’s not the way to go.  You are punishing him for things he didn’t do.  The Universe is kinder than that,” she said.

    Pomdrakpa wrinkled his nose again.  “The Universe is kind, but the Caliphate isn’t.  Nor is the Khanate, or Sakya Pandita, who is worse than the rest,” he said.  She shook her head, choosing to not reply instead.  Abhiseleka was still watching.  He arose and walked towards them.  She turned and smiled.  It was Kimiya’s face again, not Matangi’s.  It struck a sad chord in his chest and stole a breath away.  Kimiya’s smile melted.  Pomdrakpa stared forwards.  He did not want the Sachen Lama freed.  Pomdrakpa agreed with the demon that tried to take control down there.  He thought.

     “That demon is the Karmapa, Karmapa,” said Kimiya.  She laughed and slapped her knee.  She kept laughing, and it escalated.  She slapped Pomdrakpa’s back, who was leaning in the opposite direction, and he started laughing.

     Abhiseleka was dejected.  “Why are they laughing at me?  I knew they weren’t my friends,” he said.  He turned around and sat down under a tree, feeling very alone.

Everywhere You Look

     “Who are these people, Mungan?  They look like Abhiseleka,” said Goldach.  Mungan wiped the sweat from his brow, and sighed.

     “I hope these men are dervishes,” he said, “but they may be common Mercenaries.  They are Mohammedans,” he said.  Goldach looked at them.  Where have I heard that word?  He thought.  Mungan looked at him.

     “The word Mohammedan?”  Asked Mungan.  Goldach nodded.  “Your friend Abhiseleka.  His land is overrun with them,” he said.  Goldach thought about what Mungan was saying.  If they’re overrun, the Mohammedans probably aren’t helpful, thought Goldach.  Mungan shook his head.

     “Don’t be a narrow-minded bigot like her,” he motioned to the wagon where he thought she was sleeping.  “You can’t just categorize people, Goldach.  Many Merlins have owned extraordinarily intelligent and gifted Mohammedan squires.  Have you noticed their energy fields?  They are extremely advanced.  Probably dervishes,” said Mungan.

     The words sank in to Goldach’s young brain.

     “What do you mean, owned?  One person can’t own another,” said Goldach.  Mungan was about to reply when one man from the party of dervishes walked over to address him.  He stood in a formal stance, like that of a soldier.  He held up his right hand, to show he was unarmed.

     “Mohammed ibn Musa, Sir.  My party and I are at your service.  We have just been robbed by a homily looking couple packing a hidden load of thieves.  They stole our deposit to the King’s treasury.  We are all dead men without it,” said Mohammed.  

     Mungan was inclined to believe him, as was Goldach.  The other men kept a respectable distance, waiting by the carriage.  

     Coventina had exited the rear of the wagon, and was walking around the passenger side when she saw Mohammed.  She shrieked, and kept shrieking.  He jumped at the first one and ran back to his carriage.  All the men got back in Mohammed brought the reins down hard.  They were gone before anyone said a word.  The dust was in the air from the road.

     “There are bandits everywhere,” said Coventina.  “Are you ready to relinquish the reins?”  She asked Mungan.  

     “I’m afraid not,” he replied.  “Would you like something to whet your palate?”  Asked Mungan.  She did not reply, but took the flask from him and drank.  

     “Coventina, those were not bandits.  They were dervishes,” he said.

     “What’s the difference?”  She asked.

     “Yes, what is the difference, Mungan?”  Asked Goldach.  

     “Are you going to get in or not, woman?”  Asked Mungan.  

     She began to climb into the carriage, holding her dress up and reaching for Goldach’s hand.  She nearly pulled him out onto the ground.  Mungan held his other hand, and for a moment, Goldach felt the stretch.  She plopped down onto the seat.

     “You don’t talk to a lady like that, Mungan.  Look what you’re teaching Goldach,” she said.

     “He has spent the rest of his life with Myrridian, Coventina.  Do you really think I have anything to teach him about womanizing?”  He asked.  He looked at Goldach, who’s attention was transfixed on this exchange.  Mungan quickly moved the conversation forward.

     “The difference between a bandit and a dervish.  Where shall I start?  This is an extensive subject.  It’s obvious neither of you have even met a dervish, except perhaps this one incident.  Let me tell you, there would be no Druids left at all without them,” he said.  Goldach leaned in and listened.  Coventina raised her head as well.  

     “They’re the most devout people you will ever meet,” he said.  “Even the cold blooded killers amongst them, worship facing the East five times a day,” he said.  “They understand the Jewish magic better than some of the Jews I tell you!”  He said.

     “I heard something different,” said Coventina.  “In Mass last Sunday, the Archbishop talked about the Mohammedans fierce defense of Jerusalem.  He also mentioned some of them have begun to perform secret societies, conspiring against Christ and His Church,” she said.  

     Goldach and Mungan looked at each other quickly, remembering the Templars and the Order to which they both belonged.  Coventina could not know.

     “What do you mean, ‘There would be no Druids without them’?”  Asked Goldach.  Coventina noticed her point was ignored but said nothing.  This was more important anyway.

     “Coventina answered the question for us, Goldach.  The Mohammedans are launching offensives on the interests of the Church, not just here, but everywhere,” he said.

     “How does that amount to Druidic salvation?”  Asked Goldach.

     “If the Church is busy fighting them, they may be too busy to finish the job of exterminating us,” said Mungan.  Coventina’s face turned red.

     “Do you mean you condone these attacks?”  She asked Mungan.  A smirk appeared on Mungan’s face.

     “I don’t condone them any more than the Church’s war on the peasantry here and abroad,” he replied.  

Cures All Ills

     “Dear Christ Jesus, please bless and keep Goldach as he begins his career in diplomacy.  Help him to hold his tongue, and learn your ways.  Dear Jesus, help him to always remember to speak French and befriend King Henry.  In the name of the Green Man and his Bride,” Amen.  

     Goldach wanted to speak out again but wanted more to avoid Coventina’s wrath.

     “Now you say ‘Amen.’  When the prayer is finished, you invoke the ancient tribal deity of the Jews.  His name is Amen.  That is how it’s done,” she said.  Goldach looked out into space and remembered the church with Marta.  He was looking up at the crucified Savior, wanting to trade places with him.  Everyone stood all at once and said Amen over and over.  Both Mungan and Coventina were trying to get his attention, and failing.

     Mungan put his hand on Goldach’s shoulder.

     “Whatever you do, don’t get yourself killed.  Even though it seems that Jesus had a successful death, he was still gone.  We need you, Goldach,” said Mungan.  

     “That’s right.  Your mission is specific.  You must gain the trust of King Henry.  That means following his customs.  Goddess help us, the church already has their claws sunk deep into the boy,” she said.

     They finished breakfast and Coventina broke the news to him the most gentle way she could.  She arose from the table and brought back a pile of green velvet.  She stood, looking at Goldach.  He looked back at her.  She began to tap her foot.

     “Okay, what is the green velvet?” he asked.

     “Goldach,” she held up the outfit finally, “this is what you will wear to the coronation of King Henry the Third,” she said.  He knew better than to put up a fight.  There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.  That made him think of Abhiseleka.  I wonder what has become of him.  That got Mungan’s attention, but he held his tongue.  He looked to Coventina, who nodded her head.  Goldach witnessed this exchange, but did not realize what it was about.  As he began to probe with his mind, Coventina shoved the pile of green at him.

     “It’s time for you to get dressed,” she said.  Goldach did exactly as she said.  He made sure to shut the door loudly.  Then he opened it back, just a little, and waited.  He crouched down by the door and strained to hear what they were saying.  It was too quiet; they were whispering.  Frustrated, he slammed the door completely shut.  Looking in the mirror, he saw a prisoner.  I wish I could run away like Abhiseleka, he thought.  That is what Mungan had seen.  He saw Abhiseleka somehow.  Goldach sat down and resumed his plan to spy on their conversation.  Everything got completely silent.  The birds even faded to the background.

     When the silence rose to a deafening pitch, as loud as could be, the noise stopped.  Then it was just Coventina and Mungan, deciding the fate of the world.

     “What got your attention Mungan?  Was it the little brown boy Goldach was wondering about?”  Asked Coventina.  Mungan did not answer her.  He just glared in her direction.  He can hear every word you’re saying.  He thought at her.

     In the back bedroom, Goldach swooned.  His head was spinning.  Abhiseleka was supposed to be his secret.  This could be a problem.  A million thoughts raced through his head.  The final one of the barrage was this: denial won’t work.

     Well, he can hear what you’re thinking as well you genius, thought Coventina.  Why does the little brown boy matter?  Thought Coventina.

     “Stop calling him that,” said Mungan.  “His name is Abhiseleka.  I heard that much.  Little boys grow up to become men, and this boy in his mind is no ordinary boy,” he said.

     “So he’s a real person?”  She asked.  Mungan hesitated, thinking about what to say, what he believed.

     “I want to jump to conclusions.  His predecessor had a friend like this.  He was from the land of Bharat in the East.  I saw this being appear in front of my eyes on several occasions when Aurelian was alive,” he said.  Coventina sat back in her seat.

     Goldach was still listening with his inner ear.  It was amazing.  Mungan knew more about himself and Abhiseleka than he thought.  Now he remembered Aurelian and the monk talking in the cave.  It was more silence.  He didn’t like the silence; it made him feel all alone.  He remembered now.  The man was a monk, dressed in red, and he was called Gephel.  

     He’s listening, thought Coventina.  

     Of course he is, thought Mungan, he needs to know.  It won’t help us to keep secrets from him, he thought.

     “Well, you’re going to have to talk to him about it.  I don’t like brown people,” she said.

     “Why, Coventina, that’s the most ignorant load of vomit I have ever heard,” said Mungan.  He was visually disturbed, but not speaking.  His face wrinkled into a prune and he shook his head.  “That is not a brown man,” said Mungan, “he is a master magician.  He is real.  And you don’t want to piss him off,” he said.

     “I’ve heard enough of this horse shit,” she said.  “I want to see Goldach in his green velvet coronation uniform,” she said.  “I don’t need to know any more about Goldach’s master magician,” she said.  She arose and walked towards Goldach’s door.  She knocked loudly.  He did not answer or open the door.  He sat on the floor.  

     “Goldach, are you ready?  Tell me you didn’t go to sleep again,” she said.  There was no reply.  She reached for the doorknob, but then stopped herself.  Mungan was trying to tell her something.

     That’s what he used to do.  He would go to sleep and contact Gephel when he needed to confer with him.  The two times I saw him materialize, Aurelian was in a deep sleep.

     Coventina wanted nothing of it.  She opened the door and saw Goldach seated on the floor in a daze.

     “Wake up Goldach,” she said.   “Leave that Mohammedan alone.  Nothing good comes from those brown people,” she said.  Goldach snapped out of it to Coventina’s delight.  She did not understand; he was looking for something with which to stab her.  There was a deep and primal anger that was rising in him.  There was no thought but revenge.  Coventina felt a wave of dizziness come over her.  Goldach had no audible thoughts, but when he looked up at Coventina, his eyes were pale, almost translucent.  She backed away and closed the door behind her.

     She grabbed her hat and overcoat.  “I’m going for a walk, Mungan.  He’s all yours,” she said.  She closed the front door behind her.  

     “And it’s good riddance to you then,” he said.  He walked over to the large bottle of whiskey, brewed and distilled by the monks of Westminster.  He pulled the cork out of the bottle with a hollow thud and tipped it back.  The satisfying heat spread throughout his body.  He sat back down in his chair and purposefully thought of nothing.  It wasn’t but a few minutes that Goldach emerged from his room.

     “We need to get out of here before I kill her,” said Goldach as he approached the table.  Mungan looked up at him.  He looked at his head, then scanned all the way down to his feet.  He had made his assessment.  He pushed the bottle towards the boy.

     “Have a good long swig of that and we’ll talk,” he said.  Slowly Goldach reached for the bottle.  “Don’t be timid.  Whiskey is nothing but medicine, Goldach,” said Mungan.

     Goldach picked up the large bottle with both hands.  It was bigger than his head, but he managed to tip it far enough.  Mungan was surprised.

     “That seemed to go down smooth, boy.  You been filching nips when I wasn’t looking?”  He asked.  “If you just ask me, you can have it whenever you want,” he said.

     Goldach sat down across from him.

     “So what do you know about my brown friend?” he asked.  Mungan pulled the bottle back to himself and swung it back again.  

     “First of all, don’t call him that,” he said, “his name is,” he stammered,”What’s his name again?”  Asked Mungan.

Goldach's Miraculous Conversion

     Goldach’s eyelids were burning.  When he opened them the sunrise was shining through the Blessed Virgin’s body on the stained glass window.  Eastern exposure, he thought.  Coventina opened his door.

     “Breakfast in a few moments, Goldach.  Then Mungan will be taking you to see a new friend.  So wash your face,” she said.

     “Are you taking me to befriend Henry, the boy King?  Is there any way out of this?”  He asked her.  She looked stunned.  I finally got to slap her back.  He smiled.

     “How did you know, my boy?  My God!  You are the Merlin,” she said.  She sat down next to him on the bed and put her hand on his.  She looked into his eyes.  “Goldach, King John has been executed.  His son, Henry, will be coronated today,” she said.  Goldach remained stone faced until she continued.  “Myrridian will also be present,” she said.

     Goldach’s face and ears got hot.  His eyes turned green and Coventina arose from her place seated next to him.  She looked afraid.  I’m not afraid of him.  He’s just a little boy.  She was trying to convince herself when Goldach looked up at her.  

     “I’m not trying to scare you Coventina.  It’s just that I met Henry in a dream.  He acted like a regular spoiled child, and not much like a King.  Myrridian was not present,” he said.  The heat came over him again.

     “Your time here at the Abbey is temporary.  One day, you will have to go back to him to resume your medical training, Goldach,” she said.  “You may as well make peace with him now.  It’s good training for the future.  Don’t you want to be a peacemaker?” she asked.  The words reverberated in his mind.  He thought of Abhiseleka, remembering the last moments of his dream.

     “Pomdrakpa,” he said.  He shook his head and looked at Coventina.  “I’ll wash my face and be right out Coventina,” he said.  She nodded her head and walked out, shutting the door behind her.  When she reached the other side of the closed door, she covered her chest with her arms and said a prayer for him.  Mother Hestia, keep this boy safe and close to your breast.  Bear him as your son, alas, he is an orphan.  Keep death far from him and inspire him to win all battles.  In the name of the triune Goddess, So Mote It Be, she thought.

     Mungan was looking at her from the kitchen table, shaking his head.

     “No use praying for him, Coventina.  He is well-protected.  When you see Myrridian, you’ll know what I mean,” he said.  

     Goldach laid back down and went to sleep.  He wasn’t tired, but he had to go back to Abhiseleka and warn him.  He was drifting down, and then it was daylight in the Kadamba forest.  The sunlight pierced through his eye into his brain, giving him a sharp pain.

     “What do you want?”  Asked Abhiseleka.  Goldach turned around and faced him.

     “You have no right to be angry with me.  I came back to tell you.  You must save Pomdrakpa.  If you don’t all hope is lost.  Tell the woman.  He cannot die,” said Goldach.

     Abhiseleka did not understand.  “What am I supposed to do?  We barely escaped with our lives.  Do you want me to go back to that carriage?”  He asked.

     “I don’t know how you’re going to do it, but you have to save him.  He is your teacher.  I saw the future, Abhiseleka.  It doesn’t happen without him,” said Goldach. 

     Abhiseleka knew that Goldach was right.  He sat down where he was on the bed of feathery Kadamba petals and closed his eyes.  Goldach began to pace.  In another part of his mind, he heard Mungan and Coventina stirring, debating about entering the room to wake him up.

     Hurry up, Abhiseleka, he thought.  Goldach suffered with Pomdrakpa.  There was a soft place in his heart for the man.  But I don’t know why, he thought.

     “I’ve got it!”  Abhiseleka jumped up from his place on the forest floor.  “I have just spoken with him; he is on his way,” he said.

     “It will have to do,” said Goldach.  “I have to go back to the world.  Today is little King Henry’s Coronation,” he said.

     “You remember, it doesn’t have to happen the way we saw it, Goldach.  You just have to avoid antagonizing him.  He’s sensitive,” said Abhiseleka.  Then he laughed.

     “This is no time for jokes Abhiseleka.  One last thing.  Do not trust that woman.  She is a spy.  I’m not sure who sent her though,” he said.

     Abhiseleka was left standing in the forest alone.  He whirled around, and behind him was Kimiya.

     “Goldach, have you lost your mind?  Breakfast is ready.  Get out of that bed before I make you sleep outside tonight,” she said.  

     That’s all the incentive I need to stay right here, he thought.

     “You’d better hurry, Mister, or I’ll call your bluff,” she said.  She heard his thought.

     I forgot she did that, he thought.  He arose from his bed and stumbled towards the door.  Coventina met him there with three hard slaps.

     “You forgot something else.  That’s to help you remember your French.”  She slapped him the first time.  “This is for going back to sleep when you know we are waiting for you.”  She slapped him again.  “This is for even considering running away from home.”  She slapped him for the third time.  “Now get over here and eat your breakfast,” she said.

     He sat down at the table and reached for his spoon.  “Bow your head, Goldach.  At the palace, there will always be a prayer said before any meal.  It will be required that you bow your head when they do, lest you draw attention to yourself,” she said.  She put her hands together and bowed her head.  Mungan was caught off guard, and when Coventina looked up, she scolded them both.

     “Mungan, you’ve got to set a proper example for the boy,” she said, “Goldach, bow your head.”

     They all did, with hands folded together, and she began to pray.  

     “Dear Lord Christ Jesus,” she began.

     “Are you really going to pray to their deity?”  Asked Goldach.

     Coventina stood up, and it seemed like her head hit the roof.

     When did she get so tall?  He thought.  Goldach wanted to rescind that thought.  He shrunk back from her as flames appeared in her eyes.  She appeared to be quite angry.

     “Goldach, a comment like that will get you killed,” she said.  “Don’t ever disgrace their deity.  He is the Father of the World to them.  He is the Green Man to them.  It is the same thing.  Don’t add to the ignorance.  Silently be aware of what they aren’t.  This is the source of your power,” she said.  She sat down, apparently cooled off, and began to pray again.

     “Dear Christ Jesus, please bless and keep Goldach as he begins his career in diplomacy.  Help him to hold his tongue, and learn your ways.  Dear Jesus, help him to always remember to speak French and befriend King Henry.  In the name of the Green Man and his Bride,” Amen.

It Passed Right Through

     Abhiseleka did not speak.  He sat down on a stump, and began to stroke a large red and white spotted mushroom.  Goldach was just happy to finally be free.  He had been shuffled around in shit carts from one dreary building to another.  Why couldn’t he just spend all his time in the forest, wandering?

     “I believe that’s why we’re here, Goldach.  There are reasons you can’t do that nowadays,” said Abhiseleka.  

     “Oh yeah?  What kind of reasons?”  He asked.  Abhiseleka did not reply, but looked up into the rays of light that penetrated to the forest floor.  Goldach came and sat on a stump behind Abhiseleka’s, and watched the other direction.  We’re obviously watching for something.  He thought.

     “Yes, and I don’t know what it is,” replied Abhiseleka.  They sat there for what seemed like hours, though no one can reckon time in the Astral world.  Then, there was some action.  Towards the sunrise there was a commotion of birds.  They chirped loudly and were flying in the boys’ direction.

     What’s that?  Thought Goldach.

     That’s what we’ve been waiting for.  Thought Abhiseleka.  There was a faint sound of dogs barking and hoof beats.  Over the horizon, looking into the sun, a man was darting behind trees.  He kept his eyes squinted into the sun, watching.  He spotted Abhiseleka, and ran towards them.  They were now nestled in the roots of an extraordinarily ancient oak tree.  

     “You’ve got to help me.  They’re after me.  If they catch me, King John will have me publicly disemboweled after he rapes my entire family in front of my eyes,” he said.  Goldach and Abhiseleka looked at each other.

     Do you think he’s crazy?  Can he see us?  Asked Abhiseleka.

     “Why, don’t be stupid, you brown dwarf,” he said.  “I recognize a gnome when I see one.  You’ve got to help me.  Take me inside your tree house.”

     Goldach spoke up.  He had met many types of people in his work at the infirmary, and he knew his type.  He was a villager, probably some type of artisan, maybe a cobbler.  The common country folk still believed in nature spirits and saw entities.  It was just the way things were.  The apostles were the gnomes, Mother Nature Virgin Mary, and the Crucified Christ the Green Man, sacrificed each Autumn and resurrected in Spring.

     “I believe in the crucified Christ, and I’m not him.  Yes, I can see you and that’s why I know you can help me.  Please, I’m a simple man, just trying to feed my family,” the man said.

     “Why are the King’s men after you?  What did you do?”  Asked Abhiseleka.  The man got a squinty look in his eyes.  

     “You’re pulling at my leg, surely.  You know what I did.  What else would I be doing out here in this haunted place?  Hunting deer,” he replied.  “Now take me into your house or I’m barging in,” he said.  He tried to climb into the hollow trunk of the oak tree, and was successful, but it was no house.  Still, it hid him rather well.  The dogs came first, barking right in Abhiseleka’s face.  Goldach laughed as their barks seemed to blow his hair back from his forehead.  He wore a grave look.  It was the man.  The dogs had given him away.

     “Of course they gave him away.  That’s the whole point.  They’re hunting dogs,” he said.  Abhiseleka had not heard of such things, though they were happening all around him back in India.  He was appalled.

     “We have to help this man.  Did you hear what they’re going to do to him?”  He asked.  

     “What are you going to do?  Say a mantra and make him disappear?”  Asked Goldach.  Abhiseleka looked one of the dogs right in the eyes.  He was still barking and snarling, but he skipped a beat.

     “These dogs can see us as well as the man can.  They’re just that well trained.  We have to get past that training,” said Abhiseleka.  At first, Goldach thought Abhiseleka was guessing, but then he got his own idea.  Abhiseleka was right, but staring in the dog’s eyes was not helping.  Goldach walked up to the alpha male and stuck his hand inside the dog’s chest and felt his heart.  

     Leave this man alone.  Tell the rest.  Thought Goldach.

     If we don’t deliver him to these people, they will have us killed and eaten.  Thought the dog.  Goldach removed his hand from the dog’s chest and sat back down where he was, in the roots of the oak tree.  

     “So, what’s your big idea?”  Asked Abhiseleka.  Goldach looked up into the tree.  

     “Hey, what’s your name?”  Goldach asked the man.  

     “My name is Anguish,” He said.  Goldach looked at the dogs.  The hoofbeats that followed them grew louder.  “My blood is on your hands, Druid.  You could’ve saved me,” he said.  He looked right into Goldach’s eyes.  Goldach stared back into his and a strange thing happened.  The iris grew, filling the entire socket.  It was shiny, like a black metal ball.  Images began to appear, of gore and pain, then the King’s men were upon them.  They were dressed in Templar Regalia, bearing their red crossed standard.  They stopped the horses behind the dogs and looked at the tree.  Goldach and Abhiseleka were terrified.  The horses hooves were within inches of their faces.

     The men looked at the tree.  

     “Well, he has not climbed the tree,” said the leader, who’s name was John Marshall.  “I reckon he must be within it’s hollow trunk.”  He reached over to it with his lance and struck the tree.  “I summon you in the name of King John and his majesty’s court to exit that tree immediately, or suffer the consequences,” he said.

     The men looked at John, and then to the tree and back again.  Not a sound emerged from the tree.  The dogs had ceased barking upon orders from their caretaker, and the man, supposedly named Anguish, was holding his breath.  He was reciting within his mind an old Gaelic charm for protection.  Over and over, he repeated the phrase, Is álainn é an saol.  It means “Life is beautiful,” in Gaelic.  It was addressed to the Goddess Brigid, who had never failed him until now.  

     “Retrieve the thief,” said John Marshall.  Two grizzled looking men dismounted and found the hole into which Robert had climbed.  They were both too fat to enter.  Robert had a much thinner frame than either of them.

     “Come on out, you wretched mongrel,” said one of the ogres.  He reached up into the hollow and swatted around with his arm, just barely missing Robert’s leg.  He was afraid to attempt to enter the hole, lest he get stuck and embarrassed in front of the men.  That would literally mean death.  He pulled away from the hole.  The other ogre didn’t even attempt to examine the hole, content with the other’s assessment.

     John Marshall got a gleam in his eye.

     “Too much mutton for both of you.  It’s best to stay hungry at all times, lest you lose your fighting edge.  Here I am, sharing my secrets with you, like so may pearls in pig shit,” he said.  he dismounted, and removed his helmet.  He wore a light chain mail over his Templar Knight costume.  He was thinking about Jerusalem, longing to be there, but stuck running odd jobs for the King, waiting for his moment.  He walked down to the ancient oak trees roots and crossed himself as he crossed the threshold.  He was in awe of this tree.  It must be over a thousand years old.  He thought.  There was a faint voice emanating from the tree.  He leaned his ear towards the sound, and it vanished.  It was an incantation of some kind.

     Why, this may be a Druid inside this tree.  John nearly hit himself in the forehead.  Of course it was a Druid.  Who else would live within such a magnificent work of Nature?  He approached the hole, crossed himself again, and climbed into the tree.  A leather clad foot crashed hard into the side of his head.  He saw stars, but only stumbled.  There was a man perched up higher within this trunk, looking down at him silently.  John heard the voice again.  It was this man’s incantation.  Whatever it meant, John did not know.  But it was musical, and beautiful, and John did not have the heart to apprehend the man.  Go in peace, and sin no more.  Said John Marshall.  He then exited the hole.

     When he emerged, he kicked one of the dogs.  “Stupid dogs,” he said.  “Housed within this tree is merely a nest of opossums, a mother with children.  “Let’s move on men,” he said.  None of three could believe it.  Did John Marshall have sympathy for the Druids?  

     “I don’t think it is sympathy he has,” said Abhiseleka.  “It’s a healthy respect and fear.”  With that, Goldach held his head a little higher.  They watched the troops all turn around and leave they way they came.  As they did, the dogs trailed behind the men and horses.  They looked back at the boys and apologized.  There was a pleading in their eyes, the same question of mercy that the man stuck in the tree had done.  Goldach looked at the two dogs with which he and Abhiseleka had made contact.  The dogs came running back, unnoticed by the men.  They jumped at Goldach, and passed tight through him, landing at the feet of the extremely lucky man who had just finished crawling out of the hollow tree.

     They jumped on him and licked him, begging for mercy.

     “Now look what you’ve done,” he said, “I’ve stolen the King’s hunting dogs.”  He laughed at that, and the irony that these young angels before him had saved him from a fate much worse than death.  

     “We didn’t really do anything,” said Goldach.  “Maybe John Marshall was just having an off day,” he said.  The birds had resumed their resounding chorus, and all five of them relaxed just a little more.  The man came over to Goldach and held out his hand to him.  Goldach extended his, but it passed right through.