The man laughed, as if it was a good joke. "They say you destroyed a convoy of Public Security trucks."
"They happened to be parked in the wrong place. An avalanche started."
"But you did it."
"It was the rocks and snow that did the damage," Jowa said soberly. "Sometimes the mountain spirits get angry." The man laughed again. Jowa cast another awkward glance at Shan. The purbas had painfully learned not to ambush the Chinese overtly or commit obvious sabotage. There was always severe retaliation, and almost always it was against the innocent.
"They say you can beat Public Security checkpoints," the man continued, stepping to Jowa's side, helping to lift his bag onto the camel. "Even electronic checkpoints."
The words seemed to surprise Jowa as much as Shan. The man was traveling in the style of the seventeenth century and speaking of computer software security systems from the twenty-first century.
"Invisible checkpoints are not much different from physical ones," Jowa replied, still with his hesitant tone. "You just need to know how to find them." Shan watched in confusion from the shadow by the truck. Only Jowa and the Tibetan who had driven away were purbas, but the others knew purba secrets.
The camel shook its head, pulling the reins from its neck.
"Good for you," the man said, slapping Jowa on the back. "Good for us."
As the man with the crooked nose bent to retrieve the reins from the ground a paper fell from his pocket. A map.
The wind tossed the map into the air, then dropped it into the circle of sunlight at the center of the clearing a few feet from Shan. He stepped into the light and picked it up.
As he did so a brittle silence descended over the two Muslim men, who seemed to notice his features for the first time. He extended the map to the man with the crooked nose, who merely stared at him with anger in his eyes. Akzu muttered a curse under his breath. Shan stuffed the map under a harness strap on the camel and stepped back toward his bag. He had taken only two steps when the man with the bent nose blocked his path.
"Who's this then?" the man snapped, speaking to Jowa but staring at Shan. He aimed a thick finger at Shan like a gun, then raised it and pushed Shan's hat off his head.
"My name is Shan."
Shan retrieved his hat and placed it back on his head. The man knocked it off again.
"You're Chinese," the man said in an accusing tone.
"In some ways," Shan answered calmly. He picked up his hat again. As soon as he pulled it over his ears the man knocked it off a third time.
"He's the one we're bringing," Jowa said, but he did not move from the side of his horse. "Because of the woman Lau."
"No one said anything about a Chinese coming."
"And I never expected a Uighur," Jowa rejoined. "They said Kazakhs would be here."
The man gestured toward the older man. "The Kazakhs and the Uighurs have many mutual interests. And we both have many mutual interests with the purbas."
Akzu stepped between them, alert, his eyes shifting from Shan to the Uighur. "We have more important work now," the older man said to the Uighur and gestured him away from Shan. Shan stared at the strangers. They wanted Jowa, he realized. Jowa who knew how to beat Public Security patrols.
"We can find our own way," a calm voice said behind him. It was Lokesh. He retrieved Shan's hat from the ground and held it.
"Fine," the Uighur said, and pointed his arm toward the foothills below them. "Northwest. Just keep calling and Lau's ghost will find you."
No one spoke as Shan and Lokesh shouldered their bags and began walking in the direction the man had pointed. Jowa muttered something under his breath and began to follow.
The young woman retrieved her horse's reins and jogged to catch up with Shan. "My name is Jakli," she said, taking Shan's bag. "I will take you to Auntie Lau."
Shan offered a grateful nod. "I need to understand how she died."
Jakli nodded. "She drowned in the river, that's what the prosecutor thinks." She cast an uncertain glance toward the older man. "But it's not true," she said quickly. "Lau was shot in the head like an execution. The prosecutor would just make lies about it if she got the body. So we hid Lau. It would be the place for you to start."
Before Shan could reply, a horse shot past them. The Uighur, now mounted, blocked their path. "You have enough trouble, Jakli," he said to the woman. "You can't share secrets. You don't know this Chinese."
"If the old priests sent this man, then he is the one we need," Jakli said to the rider. The determination in her voice seemed as sharp as a blade.
"Old priests get soft," the man muttered.
Jakli's eyes flared. "After decades in prison for defending their faith they get soft? After watching their gompas leveled to dust they get soft? After their thumbs are cut off to stop them from doing their rosaries they get soft?" She touched Lokesh's arm and looked into his eyes. "Grandfather," she said. "You were a priest."
"For a while," Lokesh said, studying the woman with a toothy grin.
"Tell him. How many years in prison?"
"Thirty," he said, still grinning.
Jakli took his hand and held it in both of hers. She gazed at Lokesh, who stared at her in surprise, then she looked at the Uighur. "They don't get soft," Jakli said, the challenge still in her voice. "They get wise. They learn to see things. And if all our priests are gone, then we have to borrow our wisdom."
"I see things," the man said sourly.
"No. You are blind." She turned toward Shan. "This man is called Fat Mao," she said, gesturing toward the thin Uighur. "He thinks his enemy is the Chinese. But our enemies are murderers and tyrants and liars, whatever they look like." There was a cold fury in the woman's words that surprised Shan. But it did not seem to surprise the man on the horse. He winced, as if recognizing the fire he had ignited. With a pull on his reins he retreated a few feet.
"Shan has ways about him," Lokesh declared. "He can see through to the truth when others cannot."
"Great," the man on the horse ventured, keeping his distance from Jakli. "People are dying. The clans are being destroyed, and you bring us an oracle."
"He used the truth to free this man from prison," Jowa said, gesturing back toward Lokesh. "And last spring when a monk was about to be executed for murder, Shan found the truth. Because of what he saw the monk was freed and the real murderers were executed."
"You mean he got more Tibetans executed."
"No. Those executed were Chinese officials and Chinese soldiers."
The Uighur stared at Jowa, then at Shan, as if uncertain whether to believe the words. Lokesh nodded his head vigorously.
"Still," a voice came from behind them. It was the old Kazakh, the one called Akzu. He stepped to the side of the Uighur's horse. "There is no kindness in your voice for this man," he said to Jowa.
Jowa looked toward the ground. "The Chinese destroyed my family and killed my lama," he said tersely. It was the first time Shan had ever heard Jowa speak of his suffering. "But I know the lamas who asked for him to come here. If they asked, I would escort the Chairman himself."
The old man sighed audibly. "But we cannot take you to Lau. It is unimportant now. Lau will forgive us."
"I will take them, Akzu." Jakli said. "I said so."
"I know what you said, niece, but things are different now. We need this man," Akzu said, nodding toward Jowa.
"I mean, I said it to Auntie Lau," Jakli said. "I vowed it after her death."
The announcement brought a grimace to Akzu's face. He rubbed the nose of the horse, then looked at Jakli with pain in his eyes.
But before he could speak the Uighur called out in alarm. "Soldiers!" he shouted, and in the next instant Shan heard what had alerted him, a low, rapid throbbing in the sky that was rapidly increasing in volume. Akzu darted to the camels and grabbed their reins, urging them back into the shadows between the rocks as Jowa and the Uighur did the same with the horses. Jakli leapt off her own mount and grabbed Lokesh's hand, pulling him urgently between two large boulders. Shan glimpsed the machine as he joined them in the shadows, one of the sleek grey helicopters of the People's Liberation Army. It flew low, following the contour of the mountains, and passed only two hundred yards overhead as they hugged the rocks.
No one spoke for a long time after the machine disappeared over the next ridge. "The bastards," the Uighur said at last, then glanced at Akzu. "We'll take the short way home."
Shan saw that Jakli remained frozen, staring at the horizon, fear in her green eyes, but he sensed that the fear was not for herself, but for others, others who might be caught exposed in the mountains.
"I am sorry, niece," Akzu said to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. "I know we said we would help about Lau when we laid her to rest, but things have changed. The Red Stone clan is betrayed."
The announcement shook Jakli from her paralysis. "Betrayed?" she asked, worry creasing her face. "Betrayed how?"
"That pig of a man named Bajys. He took our hospitality and lied to us. He killed the boy with him and ran to the Chinese." Akzu threw a meaningful glance at Fat Mao. "He will tell them things, to buy their protection."
"A boy died?" Shan asked. No one seemed to hear him.
Jakli collapsed onto a nearby rock, her face draining of color.
"Not one of our clan," Akzu said to her. "One of Lau's children. A good boy, named Khitai, only nine years old. The horses liked him. Bajys shot him in the head."
A sharp, painful gasp came from Shan's side. Lokesh was holding his belly, as if he had been kicked. "The boy Khitai?" he asked. He put a hand on Shan's shoulder as though he were in danger of falling. His face seemed to sag. "The boy Khitai was with you?"
Jakli and Akzu looked to Jowa, then Shan, for an explanation. The first boy to die had been with Akzu's clan. When the dropka had spoken about the first killing, Lokesh had asked the name of the boy. Now when Akzu spoke it, he recognized the name. As if perhaps Lokesh had come because of Khitai.
"It was a Kazakh boy," Akzu said with a confused look at Lokesh.
Lokesh seemed not to have heard. He made a small moaning noise and drifted away.
"I will take you to Lau," Jakli said to Shan once more. "Akzu will take your friend Jowa to the Red Stone camp."
Shan turned toward Lokesh, who knelt on a rock now, facing the snow-capped peaks, surveying the skyline. Shan knew somehow that he was searching for Gendun, that suddenly Lokesh needed Gendun. It had already begun, Gendun had said. He must have meant the killing of children, as if he had expected it, or as if he had hoped for Shan to stop it by explaining Auntie Lau's death.
As he approached his old friend he saw that Lokesh had his hands together, and he thought at first it was a mudra offering. But it wasn't a mudra, he saw as he knelt beside Lokesh. The Tibetan was simply twisting his fingers in some silent agony that Shan could not understand. Shan put his hand on the old man's back and spoke comforting words. But Lokesh seemed not to hear him.
"This boy," Shan said, turning back to Jakli. "He was one of the zheli?"
She looked at him in puzzlement. "Yes. He was one of the orphans, part of the zheli class Lau organized from the school in Yoktian. They're more than orphans; not only do they have no family, they have no clan left. But the zheli is not officially part of the school. More like a substitute clan, in place of the ones they lost."
Shan turned to his old friend. "Did you know this boy? Did Gendun know this boy?"
Lokesh slowly shook his head from side to side, still looking to the mountains with a desperate expression.
Jakli looked from Shan to Lokesh, her face clouded with confusion.
"Khitai," Lokesh blurted out in a despondent tone, but this time it was not just another expression of pain. It seemed he was trying to call the dead boy, with the anguish of a father calling a lost son.
"Why a child?" Shan asked in an anguished voice. "The children are just—" His tongue failed him.
When he looked into Jakli's face he saw anger growing on it. "They are all that's left," she said— meaning, Shan knew, all that was left after the torment and persecution that had destroyed their clans.
"I never believed in demons," a brittle voice said over his shoulder. It was Akzu. He was looking at Lokesh with a sad, knowing expression, as if he recognized something in the old Tibetan's countenance. "My grandfather told me demons slept in the earth, that sometimes they awoke with a blood hunger that could not be stopped, that there were seasons for demons and destruction, just as there are seasons for flowers and creation, and when their time came they could not be stopped any more than the rising sun could be stopped, that all you could do was suffer and wait for them to satisfy their appetite. I told him I didn't believe in demons, that it was just the myths of the old ones.
