Free Shambhala by Brian E. Miller

or something. He stands, noticing he feels fine. He crouches to grab a thick, fallen branch that lies in the running stream. The stick is about shoulder height, strong and pressurized from the many days of water flowing over it. He feels it will be wise to have a weapon in the dark. And jabbing it in the earth he notices it also serves as the perfect walking stick.
    “Let’s move,” he beckons to Kamini, who is eating a piece of rotten fruit fallen from a tree.
    Hungry and edgy, they move along the now dimly lit path as the remains of the sun fade away. As Bahi walks briskly, Kamini sets upon his shoulder. “Shhh, you hear that?” she asks in a whisper.
    “No”
    “Shhh, listen.”
    Bahi listens carefully and hears small beeping sounds that begin to grow louder. Almost instantly he feels something crawling up his pants as he jumps in fright, swatting at what feels to be a large bug in his pants. Looking up, he can see small gnome-like men coming out of the woods by the hundreds. Swiftly crawling up his body they knock his stick from his hand and skillfully trip him with vine ropes that they have wrapped around his walking legs. Thumping to the ground, he struggles to fight them off, swiping at some, sending them flying off into the woods. Like large ants working for a feast, they quickly take him and Kamini over and bind them in their viney rope. They call out in victorious unison, yelling up to the full moon, which has added much pale light to the otherwise dark path. Wearing an acorn shell helmet, one of the tiny men climbs up on Bahi’s chest as he lies tightly bound, unable to move. His old, wrinkly face does not match his childlike exuberance as he tosses aside a hanging piece of his rat-fur jacket and stamps his staff into Bahi’s chest, sending a piercing pain through his torso.
    “Moo gai, gel thea,” the gnome says as the others begin to frisk Bahi’s pockets.
    They pull the clothed berries from his pants, and he hears them call up, “Sip, don tik nee sleen.”
    Not understanding the language, he quickly realizes these little men are bandits, as they search him head to toe. Bringing the small cloth up to the man who seems to be in charge, still standing fast on Bahi’s chest, they convene around it as two grasp their tiny hands on the cloth, pulling it open to reveal the berries.
    “Seam nhat?” one of them says in wonder, as his beady eyes gleam in the moonlight.
    “Seam nhat,” the one in charge says in confirmation, plunging his tiny hand into one of the berries. All falls silent in anticipation.
    As he pulls out a purple handful dripping with ripe berry, Bahi struggles and the others below tighten the rope.
    “Sang heet!” the leader abruptly says, driving his stick into Bahi’s chest once again.
    Holding up the handful of berry that oozes from his hand he chants, “Sean nhat!”
    All the others yelp and cheer, and with the raise of his small stick silence falls over them. Taking a large bite from the berry piece in hand he chews as the others watch in a hush. His eyes light up with delight, “Mmm.” He stops mid-chew and grabs his throat, dropping his staff to Bahi’s chest. The others look on with fear as he shakes and convulses and suddenly like a rocket is propelled upward, slamming into a tree and falling lifeless upon the dirt of nightfall. Several of the men run over to him yelling out, “Pwan Mei, Pwan Mei!”
    Growing hostile, the rabble of banter sounds out, and Bahi can sense their anger and fears what they may now do. Kamini sits bound to the floor as a younger gnome taunts her with jabs of a stick. All the men jump up onto Bahi as he begins to struggle. Using all of his strength, he blows and spits at them, and trying to use his head as a weapon, jabs his chin as they come closer. Coming at him with small axes and spears, they seethe with anger. Fearing death, Bahi struggles to break free when a sudden gust of wind blows in oddly, knocking several of them to the ground. Bahi