Chapter 13
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 “Your outdated vows preclude you from living life to the fullest.”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 a
rms 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.”