The Scourge of God

"You?" Rudi said; the monk usually did everything students did, backwards and carrying heavier weights.

"I will remain and give special instruction to that one," Hao said, pointing at Ingolf. "There is much to learn and he is not a particularly apt student."

Ingolf's ears flushed a little.

"Let's get on with it," he said grimly.

"Time to go," Rudi said a month later. "Although it's been like a dream here. A good dream, of peace and beauty and rest."

Dorje smiled. "Yet in leaving, you need not fear premature aging." At Rudi's bewilderment he added: "Classical reference."

The monastery had given them a tough light two-wheeled cart for their gear, and for the rest they were on horseback, with local ponies to replace the pack-animals and remounts they'd lost to hunger and accident and avalanche in the Tetons. The Rimpoche and several of the monastery's dignitaries were with them, and an escort of cavalry in the Oriental-style lamellar armor and flared helmets of the Valley of the Sun.

"You will find the people of the Wind River over the mountains"-Dorje nodded eastward-"friendly for the most part; they and the Shoshone and Arapahoe have been allies. Beyond that I ca

Rudi nodded, inhaling the scents of water, a sweetness of cut grass that Epona kept heading towards the side of the road to snatch a mouthful of, turned earth, horses sweating just a little in the spring's first really warm weather. The sound of hooves beating slowly on the damp earth of the roadway stirred his blood, but…

I'm a little sorry to leave, he thought, turning in the saddle for a moment to look up to the distant peaks of the Tetons, still snow-covered down to the tree line. It's beautiful here, and I've learned much.

"It's pretty, but sure and it would be a cruel hard place to farm," Edain said quietly as he rode beside him. "They'll have the spring planting finished by now, back home… and it's a lot longer to the first frost, there."

May was a season of beauty in this high valley; even the sagebrush looked fresh, and the leaves of the aspen groves were uncurling and trembling in the light breeze. The lakes along the almost-vertical granite wall of the Tetons had finally melted; they reflected the high snowpeaks in stretches of azure blue as pure as the sky, ringed with reeds where snowy herons waded, and strings of yellow goslings followed the Canada geese. Wings were thick above; the meadows were ablaze with bright dandelion and buttercups, yellowbell lilies, bright pink shooting stars, mauve violets and purple lupins.

Ox-teams pulled plows here and there as farmers readied the last of their fields for buckwheat and other crops hardy enough to yield in the short time of warmth, the soil brown and moist behind the steel of the shares. Water chuckled in irrigation ditches; cowboys and shepherdesses alike armed and mounted followed herds of yaks, cattle, sheep and llamas dotted over the green immensity. Many of the houses scattered here and there in sheltered spots had turf roofs as well, and their dense green surfaces were dotted with flowers.

Many of the folk waved to the travelers as they rode past, or made reverence to the abbot of Chenrezi. The monks and the escort stopped where the road began its rise towards Togwotee Pass. The nine travelers dismounted, and so did the abbot and several of his chief followers. Some of them were wearing feathered headdresses like crimson-plumed helmets, and crimson cloaks, but Rimpoche Tsewang Dorje had only his usual rather shabby robe, hiked up a bit for riding and showing his ski

Ignatius bowed to the Buddhist cleric. "My thanks and that of my Order for your hospitality and help," he said. "This valley is indeed a holy place."

Dorje bowed in return. "I can see that you have found a measure of enlightenment here," he said.

For a moment, joy shone from the priest's usually rather impassive face. "High is heaven, and holy," he said. "Mountains have always turned my thoughts towards God."

"And you, my child, seem to have achieved a measure of rest," Dorje said to Mathilda.

She nodded, smiling and making the palms-together gesture of greeting and farewell the monks used.

"It's been nice, being just Mathilda," she said. "And I also thank you for your hospitality-and for your care for our friends who were hurt."

Seriously: "If ever I can do anything for you and yours-"

Dorje made a gesture of mild dismissal. "Hospitality imposes no obligation but its return. We ask nothing for it."

"You can't stop me feeling an obligation, guru, or fulfilling it. That's between me and God."

The abbot smiled, the smile that showed every wrinkle and made him look like a boy again. "I shall not seek to dissuade you from doing a virtuous deed," he said.

Then he turned to Ingolf. "We have given you a shield. Your own wounds only you can heal, however."

The Richlander nodded soberly. "I know."

Mary and Ritva were standing at the heads of their dappled Arabs side by side; Mary wore a black eye patch with the trees-and-stars of the Dunedain embroidered on it. They bowed gravely to him, and he to them. Then he turned to Frederick Thurston.

"You, I think, were nearly of the opinion that justice was nowhere to be found among men save as a lie for fools, and that all was treachery in the pursuit of power," he said to him. "I hope you have learned better here."

Fred nodded soberly. "I wasn't really that bad, but I could feel the temptation. Thing is, I've seen… what that can lead to."

"Yes, and to only one place by many roads. But do not fall into an equal and opposite reaction. Though your path lead to a gallows or a throne, if you walk the Middle Way, you need not fear becoming that which you hate."

Then he moved on to Rudi. The Mackenzie extended his hand, and Dorje took it between both of his for a moment. They felt like sandpaper that had been worn very smooth, old and leathery and strong.

"You have been an excellent student… for a chiling with an eccentric theology," he said.

"I regret having to leave so soon," Rudi said. His eyes went to the snowpeaks on the western horizon. "This is a good place for thinking."

"Regret is vain, and leads to attachment, binding us to the Wheel," Dorje said. Then he laughed again. "But I too have regrets. That I will never see the peak of Kanchenjunga again, or smell the wind that blows from the Roof of the World. Yet this is a good place to lay my bones."

Then he turned to them all, and spoke:

"Three men set forth seeking fortune. All three went by the same road. And the one found gold; another came on good land, and he tilled it. But the third saw sunlight making jewels of the dew. Each one thought himself the richer. Farewell. We shall meet again."

Master Hao turned to follow him, then stopped. "And we shall, as well. Some of you showed considerable promise," he added.

His flat voice was harsh as ever, but several of the party blinked. That was more praise than any of them had gotten in their months here. He astonished them even more by smiling slightly as he continued:

"We shall see how you implement what you have learned."

TheScourgeofGod