Another Direction

Technically a knee to the nether regions should not have taken a trained assassin off guard, but it did.

Eric of Melbourne had not expected his quarry to fight back.

Luckily he had come prepared. Old Cobbler’s finest Australian cricket (personal padding) protector had come to the rescue, shielding the more delicate areas of Eric’s toned anatomy from the full force of Aisah’s astonishing knee attack. It was one wicket Eric was glad that he had a keeper for, and despite nearly being caught out and being bowled over by a maiden, he was pleased that his googlies were, in fact, soundly intact.

Ego bruised, but otherwise undamaged, Eric straightened his body to teach his captive a lesson. Eric tensed his right-arm muscles, swung his right palm back to his left shoulder then sent the back of his right hand with all his deft force towards Aisah’s cheek, readying the back of this hand for the stinging of intimate contact with Aisah’s check bone.

All Eric’s hand contacted was air. Well, air, and the brief brushing of butterflies. Eric gave out a huh of genuine surprise.

In true dramatic style, and left to the very last minute, Dom, appearing as a thousand and one butterflies, materialised right in front of Eric’s face, then smartly dematerialised taking Aisah with him back to the land of Perdak.

Eric and Aisah were equally surprised by this outcome, and, truth be told, Eric was more than a little upset by this turn of events.

Being surprised twice in a very short space of time took its toll on Eric, and, somewhat shocked by the sudden appearance of so many butterflies right in front of his face, he, literally, fell over backwards. Unfortunately for him, one of his special fountain pens had loosened itself and fell at the very same time, embedding itself in the soft earth just behind where Eric was about to fall. The net result being that the sleeping draught within the fountain pen injected itself into Eric’s gluteus maximus (bottom), causing him to quickly slip into a deep, deep, sleep.

Melvyn too was sleeping. It had not, so far, been the very best of nights and Melvyn, as anxious as he was, also needed sleep.

The weary trio, due mostly to Melvyn’s stubbornness, had encamped outside the Bunian cave and the Geek eventually agreed to stand guard. All had been well with both Melvyn and Just-Abangah snoring towards an MTV award, until the Geek saw bright bursts of light coming from trees not too far off. With avid concentration, the Geek realised that it was bursts of flame, and immediately woke Just-Abangah. A groggy Just-Abangah took a few moments to clear the ever present sleep form his mind and sat looking at all the pretty lights in the sky, then realised that natural skies do not have such pretty lights in them. That was when, together, Just-Abangah and the Geek decided on waking Melvyn.

This was an exercise that they had learned to be very, very cautious about. Melvyn had carefully crafted a reputation for being quite violent when suddenly awoken, and the couple were very well aware of this reality. Eventually Just-Abangah grabbed a handy dead-tree branch, and, standing well clear of Melvyn, prodded him a few times in the ribs. Just-Abangah looked at the Geek, as if to say now what, while the Geek mimed further stabbing motions, while simultaneously keeping well clear. Melvyn slept on. A nervous Just-Abangah prodded one more time and was shocked when Melvyn sprang to his feet, yanked the branch and broke it over Just-Abangah’s head.

Oh, sorry, said Melvyn,

Automatic reaction to being rudely awoken by a bloody idiot.

Just-Abangah got up from the ground and pointed to where the trees were still alight, rubbing his head as he did so.

There, look, over there, fire, what do you think it is

Considering that I was asleep until a few moments ago, I have absolutely no idea, but it doesn’t look good replied Melvyn

Come

The three gathered their sleeping mats, quickly rolled them and started out in the direction of the fires to determine just what was happening. At that very moment Bunian came from out of the bushes in front of them, stopping the trio dead in their tracks. One, possibly in charge, beckoned for Melvyn to bend, then whispered. Melvyn went alternatively white, then red and broke into a big smile.

They’ve found her

Who the Geek and Just-Abangah said in unison, the way that married couples often do

Why Aisah, they’ve found her, they’ve got her, safe.

This was a slight exaggeration on behalf of the Bunian, but they were told, by their princess, that they were to be diplomatic, and, as many diplomats were known to bend the truth somewhat, so did the Bunian. Who turned, and looked a little wide eyed at each other, shrugged and continued to impart their news to Melvyn.

We’ve to go back, into the cave, and meet with Princess Sri Ayu again, she has some very important news, and, perhaps, I’ll get to see my Aisah again said a hopeful, and maybe just a little gullible, Melvyn.

A little excitedly the three of them trudged back into the Bunian cave, escorted by the small troop of Bunian. They travelled back down the rock corridors, where earnest Bunian were repairing damage caused by Ali the djinn and his abduction of Aisah, and along the very route they had traversed not that very long before.

Once more Melvyn, Just-Abangah and the Geek were ushered into the splendid big hall, gracefully lit by the presence of Princess Sri Ayu, princess of the mountain, de facto leader of the Bunian, who appeared none-the-less radiant, despite her recent troubles.

On listening to the princess waffle her polite and welcoming greetings, for no more than a minute, Melvyn’s impatience won out.

Ok so where exactly is my wife

It was a direct enough statement, deserving, Melvyn thought, of an equally direct answer, but received more small talk.

What do you mean you don’t actually have her?

Melvyn raised his voice - several Bunian moved a little closer to him with spear like implements.

I was told that Aisah would be here; that she was safe, now where is she

Melvyn was turning all macho and had taken a stance, which those in the know would observe as a bomoh or wizard casting-of-spells-stance, very dramatic, and perhaps just a tad showy – but enormously effective.

The Bunian inched back a little as Melvyn’s voiced boomed in the Bunian hall.

Patience, Mustapha Ali aka Mr Melvyn the bomoh, patience is what is required here, today.

Said a vaguely stressed princess.

We implore you to reduce your aggression, sheath your anger and let reason win out

I er I ....was all that Melvyn was able to get out before the princess continued.

We are living in grave times, and matters of utmost seriousness are taking place, matters of which you have no inkling at present, and, in the normal course of events, neither would you have known. But, as we say, these are not normal times, and there are matters which must now be imparted to you, matters we would have preferred not to speak of.

But you will have to exercise more patience than you have demonstrated up until now, for we, and that is not now the royal we, have need of your services. If you will kindly wait all will be revealed, in due course.

Your wife is safe. She is no longer a captive of those who seek to gain control of the realms of spirit and man, but secure with an old friend of yours, and there she shall remain for the time being.

In the morning we shall meet, the Persekutuan will come together and we shall discuss the way forward, but, until then, please do not show your ill manners and uncouthness, accept our offer of rooms for the night and meet with us after break fasting, thank you.

Melvyn, for once was a little speechless. He turned to gain moral support from his two companions who appeared to be extremely busy looking at cobwebs, the backs of their hands, their fingernails, in fact anything other than Melvyn’s eyes.

Death by Moonlight

It was a bright moonlight night. The silver orb moon stuck to the ink dark heavens like a super-glued platinum disc, sounded by sparkling glitter stars. Shafts of harsh moonlight stabbed through forest openings illuminating forest bushes, tree trunks and the restless sleeping form of Melvyn the bomoh’s re-abducted wife Aisah.

A darker shadow released itself from the background and glided closer to the three forms in the mountainous forest. Aisah turned in her sleep, tired but agitated after her recapture, dreaming shallow dreams darker than the baleful forest.

The darker darkness eased closer and melded into the tree-line.

Both Ali the djinn and the one remaining hantu raya, were alert and protective over their captive. There was unease in the night and both felt it. The moon did not shine romantically but hostile, glaring down on Aisah’s wardens.

Ali was observant of the still night. It was as if a pensive night held its breath in anticipation - waiting for some grand game to play itself out, before it could once again breathe easily, giving calm back to this night forest.

A black object swiftly cut its path, with minimal sound, slicing through the night to imbed itself into the ectoplasm of the one remaining hantu raya. It was a skilful shot. The hantu deflated and dissolved, leaving a pool of gooey substance, briefly reflecting the full moon before it leaked into the countryside.

Ali shot a bolt of fire at the spot he imagined the object to have originated. It hit tree and bush, but nothing more deadly, the darker darkness had moved on.

A second and third bursts of fire singed trees to either side, but incinerated nothing more than a resting owl, too slow to escape premature cremation.

Ali flickered from human to djinn flame, quickly. All an onlooker would be able to see was a flickering humanoid form, indistinct, but seemingly comprised of various densities of flame. It was a defensive measure. Ali was more vulnerable in human form. As a human he could be killed like a human and in the very same ways that a human could be killed. As supernatural djinn flame he couldn’t be killed, as such, but merely banished, but he was less dexterous in djinn flame and so flickered back again - right now he needed to garner his energy and keep his wits about him.

Another projectile came from nowhere, but Ali was ready and caught it in midair with a deft burst of flame, long before it was to reach him. But it was a ruse, a decoy.

Two dark projectiles, sequentially launched, whisked past Ali as, last moment, he dissolved from his human form into djinn fire. Quickness saved his life. The missiles were so close to dispatching him that the space could only be measured in microns. Ali couldn’t reflect on that, he was under attack, something so rare that his reactions were slow.

More bursts of flame illuminated the forest, until it seemed that practically all the local trees were afire, but still no assailant caught. Ali turned to see Aisah waking, and momentarily flickered back into human form. It was enough.

A deftly placed fountain pen, tipped with a silver nib on which was written minuscule but poignant Arabic words, pierced Ali’s head just above his right temple. Ali was between his incandescent djinn form and his more vulnerable human form, and the object was unable to kill him, but instead sent him back to the land of djinn, near to the circles of demon, away from the world of man.

Ali’s form exploded in djinn fire bright enough to briefly expose Eric of Melbourne as, still smoking from a near miss, he crouched behind a durian tree, a grin spreading on his face. The grin, however, was short lived. Eric cast his night vision around expecting to pick up Aisah’s form - nothing. She was gone.

Eric could feel his shoulders slump in disappointment. He really wasn’t in the mood for a chase. Running round trees, he felt, was best left to those film actresses and actors who were paid to do such things, he however was a hit-man, an assassin and not one to play hide-and-go-seek.

Aisah was, of course, not far away. She was too immobilised by fear of the fight she had just witnessed, to go too far. She feared that this murderer could actually hear her heart pounding, teeth chattering and her knees knocking as she hid behind a charred bush.

Aisah had momentarily frozen when the attacker looked in her direction, but luckily for her his heat sensitive glasses just picked up what he supposed was the heat from the newly incinerated bush, not her body heat.

Eric gave a little frown. Where was she then, he questioned himself as he peered here and there looking for signs of Aisah.

In a bizarre way Aisah wanted to shout out

Here I am

To the assailant, just to get it over and done with.

Even through the mad adrenaline rush coursing through her veins, Aisah was getting more than fed-up with being a pawn in someone else’s game. Enough was enough. Abducted, bound, gagged, freed, re-abducted, freed this was getting ridiculous, she felt. I might just as well end this stupid boys’ game right now, and, as she prepared to surrender herself to the assassin, there was a tiny tug on her sarong.

A Bunian, looking almost as scared as she was, held a solitary index finger to its lips, signalling for Aisah to be quiet - to wait.

Eric, following clues he imagined finding in the undergrowth, moved away from where Aisah and the Bunian were hiding, giving Aisah a little breathing space. She turned to say something to the Bunian, but once again it held its finger to its lips, in caution.

The two of them stayed behind the charred bush for what seemed like hours, until the little Bunian was positive that it was safe to venture out. Day was breaking and the full moon was sliding towards the tree-line. An early sun had just stretched its arms, and shared a little pre-dawn light, enough for Aisah and the Bunian to see by. With a great deal of caution they emerged from behind the bush, continuously looking around to make sure it was safe – it wasn’t.

It was an ancient hunter’s trick. You let your quarry see you go away, they relax and eventually come out of hiding - that is when you catch them, or so the theory went. For the assassin Eric of Melbourne it worked every time.

No theatrical nice to see you my dear as some other villain might say, but a simple bag over the head and a thrifty knock with a dead branch and Aisah was, once again caught. The Bunian was as quickly dispatched with the very same dead branch. Eric wiped the blood off onto waiting grass before throwing the branch away. It was habit.

Eric readjusted his dress. His suit wasn’t badly singed, but it did smell of charred fibres and any disarrangement, no matter how small, caused him distress. Eric was quite a fastidious assassin, aware that the smallest details counted both in planning and in dress sense. It was the look you see, it had to be the look. The look gave the assassin the edge over his opponents, the ninja knew this, and Eric tried to practise the accomplished arts of assassination and kidnapping with the utmost panache. He always wore his suit and tie, even when not officially working, for you never knew when you were, or were not working in his line of business.

To say that Eric was not a gentleman was to call a snake illogical, it simply did not apply. Eric was not a gentleman - no gentleman would have so successfully mastered the skills of the trained, professional murderer. No gentleman would have come first in the class for bribery, corruption and skilled kidnapping, no, Eric was no gentleman - he was a professional, one who took pride in being the very best in his trade, even if his trade was a dirty one.

Aisah groaned. The sun rose. Birds began to sing in the trees and Eric was feeling a little pleased with himself. All had gone, more or less, according to plan. He had got rid of the hantu guard, dispatched the djinn and got the girl, and would soon be on his way to collect his not unreasonable fee.

But it is the little things which tend to catch us all out – little details like sparing a second or two to be proud of our accomplishments. Seconds, small as they are, take on a huge significance after the fact. And the fact was that Eric, for once, had been a little careless.

Eric took the bag from the weary Aisah’s head. Stood her upright, checked that the binding still held her arms behind her back, and received a quite unexpected, viciously sharp, female knee to his testicles.

And There She Was - Gone

Go on, go on

Say it.

Say it.....

No he’s a bit cranky.

Oh gone on, just say it, I dare you.

Well, if you’re sure.

Yeah, go on see what he says

Ok.

Giving a little cough to clear his voice Just-Abangah, clear and loud says....

Are we........

Melvyn turns his head, and gives a very cold stare to Just-Abangah

There yet..... The last part barely dribbled out of Just-Abangah’s mouth as he realised that Melvyn was, yet again, not in the mood for play.

Just-Abangah, if you ask me that... just... one... more... time, I swear I shall personally take you out of this jeep, hold you over the nearest ravine, and drop you in it.

Then, muttering, Melvyn drives on.

Damn cartoons, fill these kid’s heads with nonsense, no wonder they don’t have any room for proper thought.

A few minutes ago Melvyn had been happy at the thought of getting his wife back. Finally he had, practically, caught up with her, and, as soon as he reached the Bunian caves he would be reunited with his love. It was enough to make any man whistle and sing a little song to himself. And Melvyn had - for a few minutes.

However, Melvyn knew that life was seldom easy, and that the best laid plans etc etc etc, so he stopped whistling, ceased the singing and started thinking. Once he had Aisah back, then what. He couldn’t just go back, rebuild the surgery and pretend that nothing had happened - hence the thinking.

Told you, Just-Abangah said quietly to the Geek, who proffered a mischievous grin in return.

Melvyn was grateful to the Bunian for herding that great big Orang Asli dog into the road. If it hadn’t been for them he would never have swerved the jeep and nearly killed all its occupants. Yes Melvyn was grateful indeed that the dog, once it saw Melvyn made to rush to bite him - that really, really was great fun. But all sarcasms aside Melvyn was pleased that the Bunian had gone to such trouble to inform Melvyn that his wife was alive, well and waiting for him in the Bunian mountain stronghold. It was a great relief for him to know that she was safe, at last.

Yet Melvyn was a bomoh, he had a bomoh’s intuition, even if, temporarily, he had none of the other accoutrements of a bomoh. So something deep-down worried at Melvyn, as if that big Orang Asli dog had somehow jumped inside him and was beginning to feast on his bone marrow.

They drove the pink Rocstar jeep, as instructed by the Bunian, up the mountain, along several small side tracks, and Melvyn was very careful not to let the jeep, and passengers, tumble into the ravine. Eventually the track ended at sheer rock-face. A small group of Bunian were waiting to escort Melvyn and his party into the mountain.

Through miraculously hewn passage-ways and tunnels hacked out of solid rock the party – Melvyn, Just-Abangah and the Geek wandered, being lead by the mountain Bunian. In and out of caverns, some small and cosy, others more cavernously splendid, the travellers walked until they all were becoming very, very, tired and weary.

Melvyn, sensing a poignant moment, turned to just-Abangah and said.

Just one word, go on, I dare you, just one word

A little wide-eyed and wary Just-Abangah shrugged to the Geek, who, once again had that mischievous look in its eye.

The more the group travelled the more Melvyn became aware that all was not well. The Bunian started to whisper together, appearing concerned, but when Melvyn asked one, straight-out, if things were ok, he was reassured that everything was under control.

This answer, of course, told Melvyn exactly the opposite. The Bunian appeared flustered, not at all like their normally cool, collected selves, very much in control and radiating sereneness. These Bunian were panicking and Melvyn sensed their panic.

The little group rounded one of the many bends, and saw Bunian people running about as if their backsides were on fire. It was a chaos close to pandemonium. Melvyn had to flatten himself against a rock wall lest he be bowled over in the Bunian panic. Melvyn shot out a hand and caught a Bunian by the arm, then questioned the creature. It looked at him, realised who he was, struggled to be free, and, as it ran away shouted - sorry, sorry, we are very, very, sorry. This did not engender too much confidence from Melvyn.

Suddenly the hall they were in hushed, fingers to lips, and Princess Ayu, in all her radiance glided into the room. She still looked every inch a princess, but Melvyn could detect the worry lines on her face, even at that distance, and knew that all was not well.

Schrödinger, the princess’s zombie, patch-work cat, followed her, and started to rub its re-animated body against her legs, so there was a pause between entrance and greeting, as the princess extracted Schrödinger from her appendages. Then, seeing Melvyn and his friends, the princess gave a gesture somewhere between a wave and a beckoning hand. Schrödinger screeched his hello too.

A small group of Bunian, different from the ones who had escorted Melvyn through the tunnels, motioned for Melvyn and his followers to go with them, forwards, to meet with the princess.

There, in the middle of the great hall, golden light continuing to radiate from the ceiling, and surrounded by countless Bunian, Princess Ayu told Melvyn how they had misplaced his wife, Aisah. How Aisah had been abducted from the Bunian halls, amidst a tragic loss of Bunian lives, and how the princess felt personally responsible to Melvyn, for this disaster.

Melvyn’s face took on the appearance of being slapped by a very large, wet, smelly, fish. He went red, and, as he knew it was probably not best to explode with anger at the princess, he swallowed his anger – hence the fish slapped face. Melvyn was not in the right mood to just shrug it off and say.... you’ve lost my only love, the one being I love most in all this, and no doubt any other worlds, well that’s ok then, no problem, carry on being radiant.

The princess was full of apologies, and genuine sorrow, at Aisah’s loss, but, as she was a princess, apologies could only go so far.

Melvyn was welcomed to stay the night, but preferred to move out of the Bunian halls. He wanted time to think, and while he was accepting the hospitality of those who had just lost his wife, Melvyn was not able to think, so, despite grumblings from his two companions, Melvyn opted to set up camp just on the very same spot where Aisah was re-abducted by Ali the djinn. But of course Melvyn was not to know that. Melvyn was also not to know that he was being watched again, and this time not by the Bunian.

A shape, darker than the shadows, silently detached itself from a nearby tree and slid into the night. Its presence noticed only by an absence - absence of sound - absence of depth and an absence of life.

Eric of Melbourne merged with the darkness as no ninja could. He was stealth itself, quicker and slyer than any of the other breeds of assassins, for he was the assassin supreme - the one they called when a job needed doing that no ordinary man could do.
For Eric was no ordinary man.

Eric, a tall, slim, anaemic looking man, wore a medium grey, polyester and nylon suit, white shirt and grey tie and looked every inch the accountant he was. His reputation preceded him. He was known variously as The Lone Arranger, The Balance Keeper and simply as The Accountant - as that is what he did, he settled overdue accounts.

Of all the names Eric had been known by, secretly he favoured the name given mostly by his enemies, or those who feared him – His Nibs, which, as it turns out, was very appropriate.

Eric was an assassin renowned for throwing a steel tipped fountain pen quicker than a ninja could unsheathe a samurai sword - proving the old adage that the pen is mightier than the sword, especially if the former is sticking out of your jugular vein at the time, and the later falling from a dead hand.

He was a man of few words, and didn’t believe in wasting the few he had on gloating over his victories.

The shadow within a shadow, which was Eric, saw what he had wanted to see and melded back into the night.

Schrödinger

We are terribly sorry

Our eyes are not what they used to be, we are afraid.

Aisah wondered just what the Princess’s eyes used to be if they weren’t eyes, and why would she be afraid, she had all these Bunian guarding her, then the thought crossed her slightly frazzled mind, it must be what Melvyn once explained as a figure of speech.

But my, doesn’t she talk posh.

When I refer to we, continued the Princess,

I, of course, refer to my constant companion Schrödinger, as well.

As if on cue, a largish patchwork tom cat appeared from behind the Princess and gave a curious meow, sounding a little like fingernails being scratched across a very dry blackboard.

Schrödinger, has been with us for a very long time, well, pieces of him have.
With that Aisah gave Al a quizzical look as the Princess went on to explain.
In many respects I am cursed. I am doomed to live forever and cannot die. My constant companions, my cats, tended to live very short lives and their departure always saddened me. My friends the Bunian researched for me and came up with the perfect solution, and Schrödinger is he.

Once more Aisah looked to Al and they both looked a little more carefully at the Princess’s cat Schrödinger. True he was a patchwork cat, but each patch seemed to belong to a different cat, and had been, somehow, stitched together. One patch was ginger with short hair, another was brown with long hair, another white, another tortoise shell and the stitches were quite obvious on closer inspection.

Aisah had an obvious question upon her lips when the Princess held up her hand, and said,

You will, of course, have noticed that our dear Schrödinger is a very special cat; practically made to measure you might say.

And the Princess gave what could only be called a bizarre little chuckle, which Aisah found a little disconcerting and not a little eerie.

Al whispered, but perhaps not softly enough.

It’s a zombie cat, I’ve heard of these, once they were very popular, a long long time ago, but very rarely seen these days - can’t get the parts.

You are sadly right djinn, retorted the Princess, a modicum of sniffyness in her voice

Our dear Schrödinger is a re-animation, as we like to call those whom nature has blessed with a second, longer life, and those pieces that have worn, have, simply, been replaced.

Unkindly, Aisah had the briefest of thoughts about the pieces of Melvyn she should like to have simply, replaced, then the thought was gone and the horror of the cat was before her.

This edition of Schrödinger is a mere two hundred years old, but he seems to have more potential than his forebears

And then, to the cat

Don’t you our ding ding

For Aisah there was something just marginally odd about the whole premise of a zombie cat, and something even worse about it being called by an endearing name.

Introductions over, the princess offered Aisah, and Al the djinn, quarters to rest in, and the Bunian kindly helped, carefully, escort the couple to their rooms, just in case they got lost and accidently saw more than was good for them. The Bunian were very caring like that.

Aisah’s room, she felt, was as large as one of the caverns they had passed through recently, but in reality it was a mere twenty foot square room, lined with gold and white cupboards, a gold and white four poster bed with sundry accoutrements. The en suite bathroom contained a bath the size of a small swimming pool and the whole bathroom could have held Melvyn’s entire surgery, then some.

A suddenly quite shy Aisah imagined feeling very lonely, and very vulnerable, while performing various calls of nature, as the toilet, situated as it was in the centre of one wall, seemed very exposed, but then, who was to see, she thought . Certainly there was no one to see, especially not those little, almost insignificant, seeing devices, practically hidden all over the bed and bath rooms - Bunian liked to keep an eye on all things.

For those people who enjoyed such things, the bedroom and bathroom could be considered luxurious, but to Aisah they were too massive for her to feel comfortable in, she was longing for her husband to come and extract her from this place.

The Princess Sri Ayu was engaged in arranging just that. Messages were send out to all the Bunian on the mountain to locate and inform Melvyn the bomoh that his wife had been found, was safe and was waiting for him to come for her. Absolutely no mention was made of a finder’s fee, that would have been churlish, that could be added to the bill for her keep.

Meanwhile, in another sector of the mountain, what remained of several Bunian were laying next to another secret entrance to the Bunian caves. A medium sized wooden door hung off its charred hinges, and a whole sector of seeing devices were fused and not working.
A figure stalked the Bunian corridors, hiding in shadows, striking when necessary but always moving on, closer and closer to where Aisah and Al were trying to rest, its senses drawing it towards its ultimate goal – Aisah.

There was a mild panic among the Bunian.

Seldom did a whole sector of seeing devices go down at once, and rarely did the Bunian lose contact with so many of their number. Those in charge, including the Princess, began to be unnerved. Losing control was unnatural for the Bunian, so their reaction to it was felt in edginess and tenseness, the first signs of serious panic.

The Princess was desperately trying to hold things together, she issued suggestions that all corridors be fortified and extra guards placed along those corridors experiencing lack of observation devices. But she knew that a breach this serious in their security meant that someone, or something, was earnestly out for trouble, and the Bunian were relatively inexperienced with trouble, for they tended to have control and thus avoid trouble, but trouble was coming for them this time.

Aisah could hear the running of several pairs of little feet, and voices in the corridor outside her room. It didn’t take a genius to guess that there was something wrong, which was just as well, so Aisah bent and put her ear to the door.

The knocking made her jump.

Good grief Al, you made me jump. Aisah said opening the bedroom door.

For a few seconds Al said nothing, he just stood and looked at Aisah, then quietly, almost seductively said.

It is such a pleasure to meet with you again. You have no idea the trouble I have gone through just to be with you, my dear.

A cold chill ran down Aisah’s spine. She knew that voice, that eerie manner of speaking and it did not belong to Al the soft drink can djinn, but to another, darker and ultimately more dangerous being – Ali the djinn.

Yes my dear, the only difference between Ali and Al is I, and I am here to renew our acquaintance.

Just then Aisah did something very girlie, and totally out of character – she fainted.

With his djinn powers Ali had ceased the opportunity to send Al the djinn back to his soft drink can, and ensured that Al could not help Aisah in any practical, or indeed impractical, way. Then it was a small matter to disguise his moustache, and hey presto Ali became Al. Such was the way of djinn, their powers increased the further up the metaphorical djinn ladder they rose, and Al had all but lost his powers, and therefore had been no match for Ali.

The Princess and the Bunian, accompanied by Schrödinger the zombie cat, burst into the bedroom which had contained Aisah, only to find it empty. There was literally no trace of what had become of Melvyn the bomoh’s wife, and Princess Sri Ayu was left feeling very guilty, and embarrassed that she had lost one of her few guests. Now she had to face Melvyn and tell him that, once again, his wife has gone missing.

On another side of Tea Mountain Ali disintegrated yet another wooden door and stepped outside into lush greenery with an unconscious Aisah slung across his shoulder. The one remaining hantu raya took Ali’s burden and stuffed her under his arm.

They were through the mountain and now had a clear run down to the, potentially, Lost World of Lenyap.

Finally Ali allowed himself a little, evil, grin, his moustache resembling that of Clark Gable in Gone with the Wind, and soon they were.

In the Hall of the Mountain

When she heard, there appeared to be no stopping the flow of Aisah’s tears. Her heart went out to that poor, sad, creature who had been the hantu raya, who, it had turned out, had been a noble and self sacrificing creature. A creature, who had not, despite the agony it must have gone through, revealed what had happen to her, and who had ultimately died trying to keep Aisah safe.

Tears ran down Aisah’s face and mingled with the mucus from her nose. Together the fluids dripped into a small, but growing, puddle of red laterite earth, thoroughly dampening the iron oxides. Aisah hic-cupped little sobs of her sorrow until, eventually, she had to put her head down between her knees, and begin to control the out-flow of her grief, and guilt.

Though it had been Aisah who had been kidnapped, first by Ali the djinn and his support cast of hantu raya, then by one of Ali’s hantu raya, who appeared to have formed some type of affection for her. Aisah nevertheless felt guilty that the creature had died, or simply ceased to exist, because of her. This, she pondered, was the sort of emotional burden which could follow her for the rest of her life, regardless of how long, or how short, it was going to be in actuality, and in fact it was the sort of mental trauma which festered in the mind like a worm in jambu (pink fruit).

Ala Al Din Hamid Malik Farid Jabr Nasir Bin Hind Abd Al Aziz, otherwise known as Al, looked on helplessly at this woman’s grief, and tried desperately to understand what she had been through and was now experiencing. He felt genuinely sad at the news brought by the mountain spirit beings – the Bunian, but in a sense it had softened the blow of their presence, to Aisah, who had had so much to cope with in the past few days.

After Aisha had left the hantu raya, and met Al, it had, in itself, been a strange journey. Al had led her through the shrubs and trees to an area which looked at once familiar yet strange, like being in a parallel world. Al had sat her down and promptly began talking to a bush.

To all intents and purposes the bush was, well –a bush. It was so bush-like in its bush appearance that one could only describe it as a bush, and that, indeed, was exactly what it was. However, hidden, carefully, inside the bush was one of the Bunian, the spirit keepers of the mountain. It was to the Bunian that AL was talking, but of course Aisah was not to know that. Aisah assumed that Al was either a secret toddy drinker, or was mad, or possibly both.

Aisah had heard of the mind disease schizophrenia, where for no apparent reason people start to laugh, even at jokes that weren’t funny, and frequently talked to people who weren’t there, not invisible, just not there. Aisha wondered if being cooped up in a soft drink can, for eons, could give a djinn schizophrenia, and if so what was she to do with this mad genie?

In Melvyn’s surgery he had kept medicines and potions for people suffering from mind diseases, from the fox bat fur ointments, mixed with fermented durian, to cure, or induce paranoia, she wasn’t quite sure which, to the really hard core unguents of smelly bean (petai), belacan (shrimp paste) cincalok (smelly prawn sauce) and fermented fish sauce which you could either eat or spread over your head to cure manic depression. Aisah imagined that the sufferer was, in fact, spending more time worrying over the stench of the unguents than their ailments, so it, sort of, cured itself. Or so she reasoned.

After some long minutes talking to the bush Al had come back to her with a broad smile on his face, and if he hadn’t carefully explained about the Bunian, Aisah would have had no doubt of her previous diagnosis.

But Al had explained about the secret keepers of the mountain, and, after much discussion between Aisah and Al, and Al and the Bunian, two offered to reveal themselves to her. It was a shock, but then recently her life had been full of such shocks, and, for some reason, she still seemed to be sane. Aisah was not sure if being sane was helping in this seemingly insane world, but she seemed to have little choice.

The Bunian escorted Al and Aisah to a large cave. They drew aside fake bushes, which had totally fooled Aisah, and revealed a beautifully carved wooden door. The door was only three feet high, and covered in a form of writing which resembled the Islamic jawi script, but also looked a little like western world runes. Aisah was not an expert, but somewhere, perhaps in one of the twenty-year-old national geographic magazines which Melvyn kept in his surgery, she had seen some writing like this before.

There seemed to be no key, but the Bunian, merely by placing its hands upon the ancient wood, provided the magical key which prompted the door to begin to move. A tunnel was revealed.

Walls, obviously carved a very long time ago, radiated with bizarre greenish yellow light, a sort of bio-luminescence being emitted by fungus and moss lining the tunnel walls. It was enough to light their way, but not light enough for Aisah to see every protruding root, and she slipped and almost fell, many times, as they journeyed further and further down the eerie tunnel.

Eventually the tunnel opened into a kind of hall. It was obviously some sort of larger cave, but something told Aisah that is was carved out of rock, rather than being naturally formed. The walls were covered in writing that had almost disappeared with age, and, in places, what she could only imagine to be words were etched out of the rock.

The cave opening arched upwards to mimic a dome, similar to the inside of a mosque, or the British St. Pauls Cathedral. There, at the top, a larger collection of bio-luminescence made the area where the key stone, of the arch, would have been; glow vividly, like the reflection of sunlight on gold, giving an almost religious feeling to the whole cave.

Momentarily Aisah was awe struck. She had never seen anything like this, before, in her entire life. For a few seconds all the worries and stresses of the last few days just washed away as she gazed at the splendour of the ceiling.
“It was carved about three thousand years ago” Al said as Aisah looked,
“The Bunian told me. It was the work of their ancestors, before they moved to the other place.”

“Other place, what other place” Aisah had enquired.

“Well” said Al

“All I can understand is, that the Bunian actually live across two dimensions”
Aisah raised an obvious eyebrow as high as she could, to project her total scepticism
“No seriously, this is what they believe and what I was just told. Many many years ago their ancestors deserted this realm to live somewhere more suited to them. Some remained and kept to the mountains, especially as we humans became more plentiful. Over time, the Bunian who were left behind took it upon themselves to look after the old caves and tunnels, and therefore the mountains themselves. When the Bunian discovered that not all humans were bad, they began looking out for humans on the mountains too, and developed their system of intercommunication, something like ESP, or telepathy.”

Now Aisah’s eye-brow was so raised it was becoming painful.

“There is more, so much more to these little green folk, but I don’t have time to tell you now, they want us to move on again.”

The small green Bunian led Aisah and Al out of the glowing hall and back into more tunnels. Each tunnel, Aisah noticed, had its own hue or shade of bio-luminescence, so each tunnel was distinct and easy to spot, aiding navigation.

Aisah noticed homeliness about the tunnels. She had been a little preoccupied at the beginning, but now she found that even the very tunnels themselves seemed to radiate friendliness as well as light.

Aisah had no idea how long they travelled, but she was beginning to feel weary, and just as she was about to ask Al about stopping again, they stopped. This time they were facing a door which appeared to be made out of old blackened suede. Heavy, protruding, brass rivets formed a pattern of squares and rectangles on the door, and, like the previous one, swung open at the Bunian touch.

This time, the light Aisah witnessed at the top of the large cave was all over the walls, making them shine so brightly it almost hurt Aisha’s eyes, but it didn’t. Somehow Aisah’s eyes adjusted very quickly to the golden light, and she saw beyond into a huge cavernous hall full of light, reflections, and refractions, jewelled light and soft haziness. It was like slipping into a daydream, a feeling of floating, unreal, and other-worldliness. Aisah’s emotion at seeing the cavern was so intense that she gave a gasp and a little startled cry, which made both Al and the Bunian turn to look at her.

A golden toned, female voice boomed across the cavern, at once warm but very much in command.

“Welcome, my children, welcome to my world”.

Princess Sri Ayu raised herself smoothly from her throne, and practically glided towards them, such was her elegance and grace.

“And you must be Aisah, wife to Melvyn the bomoh”

“Er, no, that would be me” said a slightly confused Aisah stepping out from behind Al the djinn.