Authors: Patrick Woodhead

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The Cloud Maker (2010) (39 page)

BOOK: The Cloud Maker (2010)

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Chapter 49

Luca raced down the stone steps of the monastery with Babu hugged under his right arm. The boy’s head jostled up and down to the same rhythm as the rucksack slung across his back as Luca took two stairs at a time, running headlong into the night.

Trying to keep up, Shara hurried down behind them with Bill gripping on to her shoulder for support. He grimaced, jaw clenching in pain as the fabric of his trousers chafed against the newly healed scars. But none of them stopped for a second. They had to get away from Geltang and into the safety of the mountains.

Luca reached the end of the stairway and continued at full tilt, his stride opening up as he broke into a full sprint on the gravel pathway. He followed the path down, winding towards the lowest reaches of the valley before he slowed and finally stopped. Sliding Babu down on to his feet, he bent forward, winded from the effort, and stared back at the towering façade of Geltang monastery. Grey in the moonlight, it loomed over them like a colossal tombstone.

There was a clattering of feet as Bill and Shara arrived, breathing hard.

‘Everyone OK?’ Luca asked. Both of them nodded, trying to catch their breath. ‘I think we can rest for a moment. We should be far enough away.’

While Shara and Babu sat down on a nearby boulder, Bill limped towards Luca, rubbing his hands gingerly down the back of his thigh. He could feel a small damp patch just above his knee where the scar had broken and a watery mix of blood and pus had oozed on to his trousers.

‘That wasn’t such a smart idea,’ he said, wincing from the dull throbbing in his legs.

‘Sorry, mate, I thought I saw someone coming towards us across the courtyard. I just ran.’

Bill nodded.

‘I saw them too.’

Bill stared across at Luca from under the brow of his fleece hat. It was pulled low over his forehead, casting deep shadow across his eyes. A thick beard now covered his jawline and his cheeks looked uncharacteristically hollow from the weight he had lost over the last week. Despite claiming to feel stronger, he still looked gaunt and tired.

Luca stared up into the night sky, distracted by a thick swathe of cloud that had drifted across the full moon. Reaching down into his rucksack, he pulled his head-torch from the side pouch. A moment later his face was bathed in a stark neon light which picked up the curls of vapour from his breath.

‘You think it’s safe to use these?’ he whispered.

Bill stared across at him, squinting under the glare.

‘Unless you want to fall down the side of the mountain, I don’t think we have much of a choice. There’s too much cloud tonight.’

Bill released his grip on his thigh, straightening his back.

‘I’m worried,’ he said, staring at Luca.

‘About your legs?’

‘No, not me. Them.’

With a nod of his head, he gestured towards Shara and Babu resting on a rock ten feet away. Shara was holding a leather water bottle, gently pouring the liquid into Babu’s open mouth. The child swallowed, then wiped his face with his sleeve. His small frame seemed to be engulfed by the heavy sheepskin jacket he was wearing, with only his little felt boots protruding underneath.

‘You heard what Shara said,’ Luca whispered, following Bill’s gaze. ‘We just have to get them to this shrine.’

‘Yeah, but why us?’

‘Because no one’s been there for nearly a hundred years and the shrine’s apparently halfway up the mountain. No one knows how bad the route’s going to be.’

Bill turned his back to Shara and Babu, lowering his voice further.

‘Jesus, Luca. Don’t you think things through? I’m not talking about the route. I mean why did the Abbot want
us
to go and not someone else from the monastery? If the boy’s so important, why hand him to a couple of strangers?’

‘I have thought it through,’ Luca answered defensively. ‘Geltang’s full of monks. Can you imagine Dorje traversing mountain passes in the middle of the bloody night!’

Bill exhaled heavily, sending a wash of vapour through the glow of the head-torch. Behind them Shara was standing up, getting ready to leave again. She pulled tight the hood of Babu’s jacket so that curls of hair stuck out across his cheeks. Bill watched them for a moment, then reached up to scratch his beard.

‘I know you gave Shara your word, but Chinese soldiers? This is dangerous shit, Luca. We shouldn’t even be here.’

Luca didn’t answer but stared down at his hands, lost in thought. His fingers were swollen and calloused from years spent climbing and his thumb worked across the pads of hardened skin on his palms. He’d never come across soldiers before on any of his expeditions. Nor, for that matter, had he ever held a gun. But guns or no, soldiers weren’t mountaineers. All they had to do to remain safe was climb deeper into the Himalayas if they spotted any sign of trouble. They had over a week’s worth of food that Dorje had given them and enough fuel in Bill’s MSR stove for even longer.

He smiled slowly as he remembered something Dorje had told him while they were sorting through the equipment.

‘You know, I’m not exactly one for karma,’ he told Bill, ‘but you’ve got to admit, it’s strange how things work out. All this time looking for the pyramid mountain and here we are, hiking through the middle of the night to get to it.’

‘Yeah.’ Bill looked up, catching the expression on his face. ‘Wait a second. This is about more than getting to the shrine, isn’t it? You’re thinking that after we dump Shara and the kid, we’ll go for the summit.’

Luca raised his hands, his smile widening innocently.

‘The way I see it, if the Abbot wants us to kick our heels at the shrine for a week, then why the hell
not
go for the summit while we’re there?’

Bill’s expression hardened and he reached out, gripping Luca hard by his wrist.

‘Because I have to get home, that’s why,’ he said. ‘We deliver the boy, then we head back down the mountain. That’s what we agreed. No silly buggers this time, Luca.’

Shara came over to where they stood. She pulled her hair back from her face, tying it round in a knot behind her head, and looked at them both questioningly.

‘Whatever you guys are discussing, it can wait. We need to get moving.’ She turned to Bill. ‘How are the legs holding up?’

‘OK, but I think Babu and I are going to be the ones bringing up the rear.’

Shara smiled. ‘Well, I don’t think he’d be too unhappy with that. I think you’ve got yourself a fan.’

Babu joined them on the pathway, looking up at Bill from under the furry lining of his hood.

‘Ribbit,’ he said, and his nose wrinkled into a smile.

Luca walked swiftly along the path, twisting as it zig-zagged up the other side of the valley. He drew the night air deep into his lungs, enjoying the burn in his thighs as he worked his way higher with each step. It felt good finally to be out of the monastery and climbing once again.

Thirty feet behind him on the trail he could see the glow of Bill’s head-torch and the faint silhouettes of Shara and Babu beyond. They were moving surprisingly well.

Less than an hour after they had set off, he came to the top of the same snow gulley they had climbed on their way to the monastery. He paused, staring down into the long drag of snow as it faded into the darkness. It was deeper now, with the top layer frozen from the cooler night air. Checking his bearings, Luca realised that the gulley was south-facing and would be most affected by any change in temperature. In the heat of the midday sun, the entire thing would be little more than heavy slush.

Shara joined him, standing by his side with the
Kalak Tantra
open in her hands. Using the light from his head-torch, she stared down at the densely packed script, her finger tracing one particular line. Luca craned his neck, intrigued by the book’s black pages and white angular text.

‘From here we bear west,’ she said, looking up into the night. Luca raised his hand, pointing towards the looming shadow of a steep cliff curving round in a semi-circle.

‘Looks steep,’ he said. ‘You sure about this?’

‘I think so. We traverse above the cliff for another five or six hours, then drop down the other side. From there, we should be able to see the base of the pyramid mountain.’

Luca nodded, then shook his head as Shara’s brow furrowed again while she tried to decipher the next paragraph of the book.

‘Doesn’t anyone round here know how to draw a map?’ he asked.

She looked up from the page.

‘Anyone can read a map. We prefer it this way.’

Closing the book, she placed it back in the canvas bag over her shoulder.

‘We should hurry. The Chinese could be closer than we think.’

Chapter 50

Trumpets sounded, silencing the restless hum of monks.

The entire order of Geltang sat shoulder to shoulder on the padded floor of the Great Temple. Their blue robes blended into a single, shifting form as they looked up expectantly to the central dais which bore the Abbot’s vast marble throne. The service was about to begin.

Towards the rear of the temple two novices held the giant wooden doors ajar, allowing the evening breeze to circulate, but it did little to cool the mass of heaving bodies. Hundreds of monks were seated, line after line, in perfect symmetry. Each held their prayer wheel in their right hand, some staring anxiously towards the stage while others rocked back and forth, already murmuring the evening
sutra
. Each knew that the entire order of Geltang only came together on the most portentous occasions. Something significant was about to happen and the atmosphere was charged with expectation.

A hush spread across the monks as all eyes turned towards a single figure striding in through the temple doors. His robes were light gold in colour, ornately stitched around the cuffs and interlaced with rich blue patterns woven subtly into the fabric.

The congregation rose to their feet as the figure mounted the dais and bowed before the great statue of the Buddha. Its face was masked by a large curving blue hat trimmed with fur. In its right hand, the figure held the long golden rod of the
Dharmachakra
– the ultimate symbol of authority in Geltang Monastery.

With its free hand, the figure reached down into the golden urn at the statue’s base, withdrawing a fistful of chalky
tsampa
flour and flinging it into the air. It hung briefly in the candlelight, then gently drifted to the ground as the figure turned towards the sea of upturned faces.

As one the monks leaned forward. Many had never even seen the Abbot in the flesh before. They had only heard the rumours and seen his likeness drawn in the prayer halls. The Abbot was as much a part of Geltang as its bricks and mortar, an unseen presence, cloistered away from all but the most enlightened amongst them. Now the living legend was finally showing himself.

The hat came off and Rega’s familiar face was revealed to the crowd. Despite the warming light of the candles, his skin was the colour of stone, his dead eyes fixed ahead to the middle distance.

A gasp of astonishment rippled through the crowd of seated monks. Rega drew himself to his full height, his old back unbending and his bony shoulders straightening. He raised the Wheel of Law above his head, its metal glinting.

‘
I hold the
Dharmachakra,’ he shouted, his voice wavering from the effort. ‘
And with its vested powers, I now command the monastery.
’

Some of the monks recoiled as if they had been physically assailed by this news. Murmurs of surprise and alarm were clearly audible as the same questions were asked again and again. Where was the Abbot? How could their sacred leader be so summarily replaced?

‘
I speak for the Council,
’ Rega barked above the noise. ‘
The Abbot has stepped down from his duties. I am your leader now.
’

Confusion mounted amongst the monks. Most turned, bewildered, to ask questions of their neighbours. Some younger monks stood up in confusion, demanding answers.

Towards the front of the temple, seated by one of the high wooden columns near the dais, was Norbu. He stared in disbelief at the crowd. He had not understood what was happening until he saw Rega hold the
Dharmachakra
aloft, brandishing it in his hand like a prize. Suddenly, his eyes fogged with tears and he sank to his knees, his face buried in his hands.

He had betrayed the Abbot. He had unbolted the door when he had been told not to, tricked by Rega and his men. His only consolation was that the Westerners had changed their plans and arrived in time to rescue the boy.

Rega was pacing from side to side on the dais, displaying the
Dharmachakra
to all the monks gathered in the temple. Norbu stared up at him helplessly, eyes still shining with tears.

Rega raised his hands.

‘
Silence!
’ he shouted, the veins of his neck bulging. ‘
Silence, I say!
’

BOOK: The Cloud Maker (2010)

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