Chapter 1
Shadows stretch their fingers down the road as Harry races away from Dudley and his gang. The loud shouts of the seven year old boys behind him chase him, urging him forwards as he desperately searches for a safe place to hide from the gang’s wrath. His only saving grace is that it is summer, if he needs to he can hide out all night until his pursuers have given up and gone home.
“Come back here freak!” Dudley calls, as Harry careens around another corner. He doesn’t answer, can’t spare the breath needed to call back to the pack of boys. Even though the sun has started to sink below the horizon, the summer’s oppressive heat clings to him, the big ratty shirt sticking like a second skin. Ahead of him, a building catches his eyes, he’s passed it several times but never dared to venture in. Now, however, something calls to him, urges him forward, gives him just a few more drops of energy than he had had just moments before. Please, he begs silently as his feet pound against the sidewalk, please still be open.
The Buddhist temple looms ahead of him, silently promising sanctuary. His legs are shaking as he puts his hands on the carved wood doors, a silent plea on his thoughts as he shoves the doors open. They give way silently and so suddenly that he nearly ends up sprawled on the floor. Stumbling a little to keep his balance, he moves into the dark interior. Instead of modern lighting candles illuminate his way, shining off gold and silver decorations, creating a path to a large looming shadow at the end of the hallway.
“How may I help you?” A lightly-accented voice asks, startling Harry so much that he nearly falls, only to be caught on the arm by a firm hand. He winces as the hand hits one of the fresh bruises, and the hand quickly withdraws. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“That-that’s fine,” Harry stutters, legs growing weak. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave soon.”
“You are welcome here,” the voice turns into a man, appearing to be in his early twenties, dressed in a shirt of yellow with a deep red wrap. “Come sit, you look like you are about to pass out.”
Nervously, Harry allows the man to lead him to a cushion that lines the floor.
“What brings you here at this hour?” The man asks, but before Harry can reply the doors blow open with a loud crash. Harry flinches, as Dudley and his gang’s voices rise over each other.
“Where is he?”
“This is where he ran right?”
“Come on out freak.”
“Man it’s dark in here!”
Harry flinches and tries to scramble back, curling up to make a smaller target. The man places a hand on his shoulder, the candlelight throwing his face into a hard expression.
“Are they looking for you?” The man asks, face growing even harder when Harry nods, trembling. On his Uncle Vernon’s face, he would brace for a fist, on his Aunt Petunia’s he would prepare for a barrage of angry words, on Dudley’s he would already be in a world of hurt, but on this stranger’s face…On this stranger’s face, Harry strangely feels safe.
“Stay here,” the man instructs, standing up. The candles flicker in unison as if being blown by an unseen gust of wind, casting the man’s shadow on the wall. Blinking, Harry tries to refocus his eyes on the man’s shadow, convinced he’d been seeing things because instead of a man’s shadow there had been that of a monkey.
He watches as the man walks towards the front door, there’s something sinister in the movement, something that seems to sing of barely repressed tension.
“May I help you?” The man asks, and if Harry hears an iciness that wasn’t in his voice when he’d spoken to him, then that’s just his ears playing tricks on him.
“We’re looking for a freak,” Dudley informs him, “unkempt hair, green eyes, really thin. I saw him come in here.” Harry braces himself for the man to point in his direction, as he waits for the man to reply.
“I’m afraid I haven’t seen anyone with that description come in,” the man says calmly, “now if you wish to make some offerings to Lord Buddha, you are welcome, if not…” He trails off, as Harry hears angry mutters.
“I saw him come in here.” Dudley insists, stubbornly.
“He is not here,” the man repeats calmly, “please leave.”
Harry waits, curled up on the couch, heart pounding in his chest for something to happen.
“Fine,” Dudley snorts, “we’ll get him later.” There’s the slam of the doors being opened again, the brief sound of traffic before it is cut off by the doors closing. A few moments later, Harry hears the man sigh, and the sound of footsteps on the floor.
“They’re gone,” the man says quietly, a little ways away. “Can you look at me?”
Trembling, Harry lifts his head to meet his savior’s eyes as he walks closer, expression kind. Crouching in front of him, the man slowly reaches out his hand eyes carefully studying Harry’s expression for any signs of fear.
“They really did a number on you,” he muses, finger gently skating above the black eye that is starting to make itself known on Harry’s face. “Come on, I have some things that will help…” The man trails off, eyes sharpening, narrowing on Harry’s forehead. Rage crosses his face, shifting it to look less human and more like a monkey’s. Flinching back, Harry tries to make himself smaller, mind spinning trying to figure out what had made this man’s mood switch so suddenly.
“Sorry,” the man says, shifting back, taking a deep breath. “That wasn’t aimed at you, it was…” He trailed off again, before shaking his head once. “Come on, let’s get you to my quarters. I can help with your injuries.”
“Quarters?” Harry asks shakily, trying to stand. However, his earlier run must have taken more out of him than he thought as his legs went numb and he fell back on the cushion.
“Room,” the man translated, “can I pick you up.”
Nodding hesitantly, Harry feels himself being picked up in strong warm arms, cradled against a strong chest.
“You’re really light,” the man comments, voice strangely even. Harry drifts, lulled by the warm, steady heartbeat pounding against his ear, comforted by the man’s warm earthy scent, the gentle sway as he walks farther into the temple.
The room that they enter is simple compared to the scant glimpses of the main body of the temple Harry had seen. Candles flicker everywhere here as well, as if the entire temple is ignoring the availability of electricity. Gently, Harry feels his body being laid on a cushion, as the man steps back.
“I’ll be right back,” he promises, “my friend might come in, but don’t worry he won’t hurt you.”
Harry nods, watching as the man leaves the room. There’s a small part of him that wants to scream out ‘please don’t leave me!’ but he ruthlessly squashes it, he’s already bothered the man so much.
The room is almost silent, apart from the steady fall of water coming from one corner of the room. A deep earthy scent hangs in the air, as the candle flames stand steady. For the first time that Harry can remember, he feels safe. The door opens again and his savior comes through again, followed by another man in similar robes. Harry stares at the second man, who seems to shine with an inner light, as he bows to him.
“Welcome, Sun Wukong has told me that you are injured and seeking refuge?” He asks, his voice lightly accented with the same strange accent that the first man has. Sun Wukong, Harry tells himself firmly, I have to remember that so he doesn’t get angry.
“Yes sir,” Harry whispers, eyes dropping to the floor. “But you don’t have to waste anything on me, I’ll be fine.”
“None of that,” the second man’s voice is kind, “we’re happy to help you.”
“Thank you sir,” Harry tells him, as the two men kneel in front of him. Their hands are gentle as they go over his injuries, voices soft as they tell him what they are doing, explaining the herbs that are used in the tinctures.
“Now,” the second man says once Harry’s wrist-which he hadn’t realized was sprained-has been wrapped. “Let’s take a look at that scar on your forehead. Sun Wukong said there was something wrong about it.”
“Tripitaka,” Sun Wukong begins, before hesitating, and then finishes whatever he was going to say in another language. The second man, Tripitaka, Harry thinks, nods once, reaching out slender fingers to put them gently over the lightning bolt on Harry’s forehead. For a moment, time seems to freeze as a torrent of emotions rises in Harry’s chest, predominantly anger and fear, but there are other emotions that he can not describe. Tripitaka pulls back, his face troubled as his eyes dart towards Sun Wukong. Harry watches as the two seem to have a silent conversation between the two men, before they come to a decision.
“He was right, there is something evil lurking in your scar. I think I can do something about that however,” Tripitaka tells him, “will you allow me to try?”
Harry nods, because if Tripitaka can help get rid of the scar that never seems to heal, then maybe people will stop staring at him like he’s a freak. The idea that there was something lurking behind the red skin, something evil, sent shivers down his spine as his mind started to spin. Was his aunt and uncle right? Was he really a freak? Something evil?
“It may hurt, but I will stop if you tell me to.” Tripitaka’s soft voice interrupts his swirling thoughts.
“Ok,” Harry agrees softly, “I won’t make a sound, I promise.”
“You’re very brave,” Tripitaka smiles at him, “what can I call you? Sun Wukong didn’t give me your name.”
“My name is Harry, sir.”
“Harry, it is an honor to meet you. I am Tripitaka, a monk here at the temple, temporarily and this is my disciple Sun Wukong.”
“It is an honor to meet you,” Sun Wukong chirps from Tipitaka’s side, bowing low. “Don’t worry, Tripitaka is the best.”
“It’s ok if you can’t do anything,” Harry reassures them hastily, “none of the doctors have been able to do anything about it.”
His aunt’s fury was always terrible after one of those doctor appointments, sending him to his cupboard without food and cheek stinging with the slap of her palm.
“Don’t worry,” Tripitaka reassures him, “if I can’t heal it, we have some friends who will be able to help. We won't let you live with this evil for any longer than you must.”
“Ok,” Harry agrees again, “what must I do?”
“Can you sit cross legged for me?”
As Harry gingerly crosses his legs, wincing at the pins and needles that flare up, Tripitaka and Sun Wukong gather some things from around the room. Sun Wukong lights a long stick of something, a flame dancing up before it is gently blown out, leaving only a burning core and smoke drifting up towards the ceiling. Tripitaka brings a small golden bowl out from a wooden box and opens it, tilting it towards Harry to show him. Inside is a creamy paste with a pale green tint to it. When Tripitaka coats one of his fingers and brings it up to Harry’s nose, he can smell rosemary and sage in the balm.
“I’m going to put this on your forehead,” Tripitaka says, “will you let me?”
“Yes,” Hary whispers, he doesn’t think he’ll not agree to whatever the two men are asking him to do. Not when they’ve been so kind to him, seem so safe. Tripitaka gently rubs the paste on Harry’s forehead, making sure the scar is heavily covered with it.
“Ready?” Tripitaka asks, as he sits in front of him, settling with a grace that Harry distantly wishes for.
“Ready.”
Tripitaka begins to chant, voice rising and falling as he speaks in a language that Harry can’t understand. Listening to the voice that thrums with power, getting even stronger as the time progresses, Harry can feel his scar prickle with heat. As the chanting progresses, pain flares in Harry’s skull, growing in strength each time Tripitaka pauses for a moment to take a breath. It starts to spread, lighting every nerve in Harry’s body on fire, making him keenly aware of every organ in his body. He grits his teeth as tears start to build in response to the overwhelming pain. Distantly he feels his nose start to bleed, but he is not sure he can even lift an arm to wipe it away.
“Tripitaka,” Sun Wukong’s voice rings out, “stop, it’s hurting him.”
“I can-” Harry begins, but he is cut off by a wave of pain that sends him doubling over, gasping for breath. Still, it’s enough for Tripitaka to break off his chanting and open his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Harry says at the same time as Tripitaka. Both of them blink in surprise, looking at each other while Sun Wukong takes a damp cloth and gently presses it to Harry’s face, wiping away the sweat that had built up.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Tripitaka takes a deep breath, dark eyes sad. “I am sorry for not paying attention when you were hurting, it shouldn’t have taken me so long to realize that. It shouldn’t have taken Sun Wukong to point it out.”
“Why don’t you lie down,” Sun Wukong suggests, “I’ll get some food for you, and you can rest. Tomorrow morning we’ll go over what our next steps are.”
“You’re letting me stay?” Harry asks in surprise, as both men nod.
“We’ll talk in the morning,” Tripitaka promises, “but for now, eat and rest.”
“Yes sir,” Harry sags back, wincing as every muscle screams in agony. He knows he should protest, but something deep inside him tells him that this is where he is meant to be. It tells him that if he allows these two men to care for him, he will be able to flee from his aunt and uncle, that he will be finally happy and safe. As his eyes drift closed, he silently promises himself that he will be wary around them, not get his hopes up, but just like his battle with sleep, he knows that it is quickly becoming a losing battle.