Bone Mountain

Lhandro and his parents stepped out of the door, followed by all the other Tibetans, who sat near Jokar and listened as the lama spoke of life at Norbu gompa sixty years before. It seemed somehow a perfect ending to their pla

But Shan watched the clouds, too, as the others stood and gathered around the tea churn once more. If Jokar could see the gompa in the clouds, perhaps he could see Lokesh. He watched so intensely he was unaware of anyone approaching until a paper, folded tightly into quarters, dropped against Shan's boot. He blinked and saw Lin, studying the Tibetans with suspicion in his eyes.

"You can't touch those prisoners," he growled, rubbing his temple as he spoke. "If you touch them, if you try to take them, Public Security will shoot you." Lin's voice was still weak but his tone was vengeful. He raised his hand and looked as if he were going to make a fist out of it, but after a moment dropped it to his side and seemed to stagger, as if dizzy. "And if the damned knobs don't, I will," he rasped. "I will arrest everyone here. Arrest you and execute you!"

Part Four

Chapter Sixteen

When he scoured his mind of fear and laid back with his eyes closed, Shan felt small ripples of contentment coursing around him. Not his own contentment, for he had yet to find and free Lokesh and Tenzin, but that of the Tibetans who had gathered on the flat plain outside Norbu. Children were laughing, horses neighing, men were calling in expressions of wonder, and throughout all was woven the throaty rumblings of yaks. Occasionally, like the seasoning in some exotic dish, he heard the singing rush of arrows.

He had spent an hour that morning sitting near the makeshift archery range a band of dropka had built beyond the tents, sitting on the spring grass, sharpening his awareness on the arrowpoints. The Tibetans had long ago taught him meditation exercises utilizing arrows and bows, sometimes real, sometimes imaginary, and he had discovered what Gendun meant when he had told Shan that archery was not a sport but a teaching. It was a perfect vehicle for achieving focus, and when he emptied his mind sufficiently he could hear, as Gendun had taught him, not just the drawing of the string, the release of the string, the flight of the arrow and its impact, but also the perfect instant of quiet just before the string was released, when the archer and his implements become one. Nothing in his own life was ever so straight, or true, or quick.

The inhabitants of the neighboring lands had brought Khodrak and Padme their May Day festival. It had taken three days, with messengers ru

In the truck they had met in the mountains, Shan had listened to a strange debate among Lhandro and the purbas. What did they need most of all to bring the local people to the festival, Somo had asked the rongpa. Yaks, the Yapchi headman had said, and archery. There could be no festival without yaks and arrows. To his surprise, the yaks had been easier to assemble than the archers, for archery had been another of the traditions suppressed by the government. As Shan had watched on the second day from the hidden post the purbas had established on the ridge above Norbu, a small herd of yaks had arrived, some already festooned with colorful ribbons and strands of yarn. The archery range, outlined with rocks aligned toward a series of hardened mud targets, had waited until dropka from the deepest part of the ranges had arrived, the dropka who lived farther from the reach of the government.

He started from his dreamlike state as someone touched his arm, and opened his eyes into Anya's smiling face. She had clasped her hand around his own, and he silently let her pull him to his feet, then toward the makeshift pasture.

"Nearly a hundred!" she said excitedly.

Yaks. She meant nearly a hundred yaks, Shan saw as they stepped among the creatures. As he studied the joyful faces of the other Tibetans who gazed upon the animals, he realized that in the impoverished district such an accumulation was rare, representing a significant portion of the inhabitants' collective wealth.

Anya led him into the center of the herd, patting nearly every animal they passed. Sharing a handful of dried cheese with him, she carefully explained the traditional names for the many color patterns. She pointed to a black creature with white spots. "Yak thabo," Anya explained with a dreamy expression, pausing to rub the yak's ears. "Yak dongba," she said, gesturing toward one with a white star on its forehead. A kawa had a white head, a tsen yak was golden, and one with asymetrical horns was called ralden. Anya finally reached a large, purely black animal which greeted them with a low rumbling in its throat.

"I saw Gyalo arrive last night," she whispered. "He put on herder's clothes." Anya began tying braids in Jampa's hair, showing Shan how to fold and twist the hair, as she explained that he was the rarest of all, a lha yak, a perfect yak in every sense, protected by the deities and never to be used to carry an impure burden.

Suddenly he realized that Anya was staring past his shoulder with fear in her eyes. He turned to see that she watched the gate of the gompa, nearly two hundred yards away.

"It's time," she a

Nyma studied the compound then handed him the glasses. He could see the soldier's face plainly in the lenses as the figure approached the gate. The rongpa and dropka reflexively hurried away from the figure, as they always did from the People's Liberation Army. Only those in the purba truck knew it was not a soldier, but even with his binoculars he could not tell it was Somo. Her hair was tightly tucked under an oversized green wool cap, the kind used under helmets by the mountain troops. Her uniform was complete but soiled, her tunic slightly torn at one shoulder. A leather dispatch case dangled from her other shoulder. The image was of a seasoned soldier who had been campaigning in the high ranges.