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internal mental as well as physical conflict.
Better, the monk in the middle declared tersely even as he raised the
singular device and pointed it in
Ehomba s direction. As your friend can tell you, this won t hurt a bit. A few
weekly treatments and your thinking will be right as rain.
Yes, agreed the man on his left. Then you can choose freely whether to
return to your homeland, or remain here in beautiful Tethspraih, or continue
on your way. Whichever you do, it will be as a contemporary, right-thinking
person, with none of the irritating emotional and intellectual baggage that so
cripples the bulk of humanity.
I like my intellectual baggage, Ehomba responded. It is what makes me an
individual.
So do unfortunately inherent human tendencies to commit murder and mayhem.
The woman succored him with an angelic smile. But they do not contribute to
the improvement of the person.
Ehomba tried to duck, to twist out of the way, but it was far more difficult
to avoid a cloud than a spear thrust. As the pallid vapor enveloped him he
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tried not to inhale, only to find that it was not necessary to breathe in the
powder directly to experience its effects. The delicate fragrance was an
ancillary effect of the substance, not an indicator of its efficacy. It sank
in through his eyes, his lips, the skin of his exposed arms and ankles and
neck, from where it penetrated to the core of his being.
While his feet remained firmly on the floor, he felt his mind beginning to
drift, to float. Ahead lay a pillowed rosy cloud, beckoning to him with pastel
tendrils while masking his view of the three savants.
He was aware that they were continuing to observe him closely. If only he
would let himself relax and fully embrace the mist, a great deal of the inner
torment and uncertainty that had plagued him throughout his life would vanish,
dispersed as painlessly and effectively as vinegar would kill a scorpion s
sting.
He fought back. He conjured up stark images of Mirhanja and the children that
were faithful down to the smallest detail. He recalled the time he had been
fishing in the stream the village used as its source of fresh water, and had
stepped on a spiny crawfish. The remembrance of that pain pushed back the
insistent vapor, but only for a moment. He recalled the specifics of
discussions he had engaged in with the village elders, and arguments he d had
with his wife, and the day they had celebrated his mother s eightieth birthday
and it had rained on everyone and everything. He reviewed the minutiae of his
journey to this time and place, assigning each an emotion and a day.
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20krui...ist%2002%20-%20Into%20The
%20Thinking%20Kingdom.htm (114 of 262)19-2-2006 17:04:59
Into the Thinking Kingdoms: Journeys of the Catechist, Book 2
He did everything he could think of to keep his thoughts his own even if they
were not right.
He s fighting it. Through the brume of befuddlement that threatened to
overwhelm him he heard the woman s voice. She still sounded confident, but not
quite as confident as previously.
His channels of thought are more deeply worn and solidly set than those of
his companion. This from the monk seated at the other end of the table. Give
him another dose.
So soon? The senior of the trio sounded uncertain.
We don t want to lose him to irresolution. The other man s tone was kindly
but firm. It won t hurt him. He s strong. At worst it may cost him some old
memories. A small price to pay for a lifetime of proper thinking.
Benumbed within the fog of right thinking, Ehomba heard what they planned for
him, and panicked.
What memories might he lose if subjected to another dose of the corrective
dust? A day hunting with his father? Favorite stories his aunt Ulanha had told
him? Remembrances of swimming with friends in the clear water pool at the base
of the little waterfall in the hills behind the village?
Or would his losses be more recent? The number of cattle he was owed from the
communal herd? Or perhaps the knowledge of how to treat a leg wound, or bind
up a broken bone. Or the wonderful philosophical conversations he had engaged
in with Gomo, the old leader of the southern monkey troop.
What if he forgot his name? Or who he was? Or what he was?
The only thing that seemed to fight off the soporific effects of the powder
was strong thinking in his accustomed manner. Behind him, Ahlitah had finally
roused himself from his slumber. He could hear the big cat growling, but
softly and uncertainly. Seeing his friends standing unbound or otherwise
unrestrained, freely confronting the three unarmed humans seated behind the
table, the cat was not even sure anything was amiss. When it came to the
realization that all was not as well as it seemed, it would be too late for it
to help. And a burst of thought-corrective powder from the big-mouthed
apparatus might render its feline mind incapable of intelligent thought
altogether.
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No matter how persuasive or compelling the effects, Ehomba had to fight it
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