Black Flame (10 page)

Kelsang felt drowsy and was lying by his pole when he heard the sound of thundering hooves. He jumped to his feet. He couldn't figure out what this mad yak was after. Instinct told him to run toward it barking. That's what shepherd dogs do — round up animals who are straying from the herd.

The yak wasn't after anything in particular and was just trying to expend its energy before returning to the other animals. But Kelsang's barking had caught its attention, and without thinking, it started running toward the mastiff. Adult yaks weigh about half a ton, and so when running at full speed can't stop easily. Its eyes were red, and it was intent on bulldozing the mastiff into smithereens.

But Kelsang didn't cower. If it hadn't been for his chains, he would have long since powered himself forward. He knew that to turn this animal's giant weight against itself, all he had to do was whirl around and bite its hind leg. Then, as it turned, he could jump up and bite it on the other side. It wouldn't take long to exhaust the yak before sending it back to the herd, stunned and humbled.

But Kelsang was tied up, and aside from howling at the yak, he was powerless. He stretched and prepared to face the tank-like beast charging madly toward him. The yak didn't slow down. It was still determined to trample everything in its path.

Although Kelsang had a frighteningly massive frame, in the face of the crazed yak, even he looked rather feeble. He nimbly dodged to one side as the yak charged him, its half-moon horns lowered and ready to stab. As the yak continued forward, propelled by its own weight, Kelsang nipped behind and sank his teeth into a hind leg. This was the first time in ages that he had had something worth biting into. Without a moment's hesitation, he pushed his sharp teeth through the yak's fur and then quickly let go. He had caused enough pain to wake the yak from its trance. If he dug his teeth in any deeper, he might break its leg. This was a fundamental principle that all superior shepherd dogs understood — you don't break the leg of your master's animal.

In a cloud of dust, the yak passed Kelsang and crashed into the pole that had stood firm come rain or shine for months, snapping it like a matchstick under its hooves.

At first, Kelsang didn't understand the significance of what had happened. He had given up hope of getting his freedom back long ago. But as he pulled out of the yak's way, he felt his chains drop.

It had only taken an instant. The yak came to its senses as it crashed to the ground, the force of the impact against the pole making it lose its balance. It stood up, its face covered in dust, and panting heavily, tried to make sense of what had happened.

Kelsang had already lost interest in the yak and was running out onto grass yet to bear his footprints, beyond the circle permitted by his chains. The chains were still fastened around his neck, but he knew that he was free.

Dragging the chains behind him, Kelsang ran up the mountain slope in the direction where he and the rusty red mastiff had spent so long gazing.

Suddenly he encountered the man with the dark cheeks. He stopped, momentarily distracted. The man was even more shocked. He knew just how ferocious a mastiff could be after being tied up for a year.

Fear came crashing over him like a wave, and he slumped to the ground. He cupped his hands over his head and pulled himself into a tight ball. Perhaps it was more in self-defense than fear. He might look undignified, but at least the dog couldn't get at his neck and head. And so he lay perfectly still, like a pheasant chased into a snowdrift by a pack of hunting dogs.

But the man's attempt to play dead only confused Kelsang. He had never seen a human behave like this, and now that he finally had an opportunity to satisfy his desire to retaliate, he didn't know where to bite.

Of course, this was precisely why the man with the dark cheeks was lying on the ground tucked up like a human ball — so that the mastiff couldn't smell his pungent fear. In an instant, Kelsang lost his desire to attack. Maybe it was all to do with timing. If he had been given this chance shortly after being tied up, no doubt the man would have been torn to a pile of unsightly pieces.

A few of the waiters were running toward them shouting and carrying ropes and sticks. From a distance, it looked as if the dog had already mauled their boss, since he seemed to be a motionless pile of clothes on the ground.

“I told you from the beginning, that thing is no dog. Have you ever seen a dog like that?”

“What do you mean it's not a dog? A mastiff's not a dog?”

“Well, it's not a normal dog.”

“I was getting water from the river when the boss told me to hurry up. He said he was going up the hill to pee. It could be me lying there on the ground.”

The waiters spluttered about their close shaves as they ran up the mountainside, but they stopped a good distance from the dog. They stamped their feet and shouted, not wanting to get any closer.

Kelsang had already continued up the slope, dragging the chains behind him. He didn't feel that he absolutely had to return to the open grasslands, but he knew that was the direction he was heading.

Fearing that the dog had ripped open their boss's throat, the waiters approached cautiously. He was completely still, his bottom sticking up in the air. One of the waiters steeled himself and poked him with his stick.

Thinking the dog had taken his first bite, the man with the dark cheeks began to shake violently. But when he looked through the cracks between his fingers and saw only his waiters, he lifted his mud-caked face. He looked around to make sure that the dog had definitely gone and then struggled to his feet.

“What are you waiting for? Go after it!” he shouted.

There is nowhere to hide out on the open grasslands, no place to take temporary refuge. If the battered old truck hadn't broken down, spluttering like a cow that had been shot, who knows how long Kelsang would have been able to carry on.

A few times, the truck had come very close to driving over his chains, but the curves in the road prevented it from chasing him at full speed. Kelsang ran as fast as he could, his heart thumping a rapid drumbeat. It became harder and harder for him to catch his breath. At one point, darkness fell over his eyes, but only for a brief moment. He pressed on, the chains trailing behind him. He had been wearing these chains for more than a year now, and as he ran, his neck muscles grew even stronger with the strain. The pounds of metal had almost become a part of his body.

The waiters were standing in the back of the truck shouting. It only took ten minutes to catch up to the mastiff, but even then they didn't dare get too close in case they ran over the boss's treasure. So when they were close enough to chase him on foot, they poured down from the truck like a swarm of ants. But while they were arguing over who should grab Kelsang's chains, he took off and ran out of sight. They clambered back into the truck. After this happened a few times, Kelsang understood what was going on. As the truck approached, he would change direction, so that by the time it had turned around he was already out of reach.

Gradually, it grew dark. Kelsang was so tired he was panting violently, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Fortunately, the truck made a sudden deafening cranking sound, as if it was about to fall apart, and spluttered to a halt.

Kelsang slipped away under the cover of darkness. As the waiters clambered down from the truck, they could hear the sound of chains bumping along the ground somewhere in the black night. Their boss was shouting and swearing, but they were all too scared to leave the broken-down truck and go in search of the dog.

Never again did Kelsang have to endure the sound of the voice belonging to the man with the dark cheeks.

It was now pitch black.

A fire of driftwood and yak dung. Two shadows that looked like flattened giants flickered as the flames danced in the gentle breeze, stretching out into the wilderness.

The two men were trying to put up a tent, but it wasn't going well. One was tugging from the outside while the other had climbed in. Suddenly the tent collapsed. Their laughter floated across the open landscape, but it was like the tiniest drop of water being sucked into a sponge, so vast was the silence of the wilderness.

When they finally got the tent to stand up on its own, one of the men stood bolt upright, alarmed by the smell wafting toward them. With a shout, he ran to the fire and grabbed a pot. Hunger alone enabled him to withstand the burning hot metal before he dropped it on the ground, screaming and waving his hands. But he had managed to rescue the food, their only sustenance after driving all day across the grasslands.

“It doesn't look too burnt,” said Han Ma, as he lifted the lid off the pot and sniffed.

“Yeah, but my hand is. Get the spoons in the jeep,” said Yang Yan.

Finally, they sat outside their fully erected orange tent enjoying bowls of steaming hot meat congee. The stars were high in the night sky, and even though their stomachs were thundering with hunger, they paused to gaze up at the magical sight.

“The sky's different here. Look, Ursa Minor,” Han Ma mumbled through a mouthful of congee.

“Is that the Little Bear? Where?” Yang Yan raised his head. “Yeah, it is different. A lot more stars, and it's so bright.”

“Of course it's bright. We're more than thirteen thousand feet above sea level. We're much closer to the sky — we're on top of the world.”

“Really?”

“This is the world's highest plateau…”

“Whatever. You've been talking about it the whole way. I'm not interested in your geography lessons,” Yang Yan interrupted. “Show me the Little Bear instead.”

“Over there. That really bright star is its tail.” Han Ma pointed his spoon up at the vast sky.

“Where? Which one?”

“There.”

“But the sky's full of stars!”

“Join up the brightest ones, and that's the Little Bear.”

“Nonsense. How does that look like a bear? It's just a bunch of stars.”

“Hmm, you have no imagination. Better stick to being a businessman.”

“But I really can't see it.” Yang Yan cocked his head, looking up.

Han Ma raised his arm, despite the ache in his shoulder from the day's drive, and tried to point out the constellation among the myriad stars in the sky.

“Do you have a weird feeling?” Han Ma asked, as he slowly lowered his arm.

“Like what?”

“Like someone's watching us.”

Yang Yan's eyes widened. He moved closer to Han Ma.

“I just heard something,” whispered Han Ma.

“Me, too. It sounded like metal clanging.”

The two men fell silent, holding their breath and listening. But they couldn't hear anything. It was quiet — too quiet — they couldn't even hear the sound of a bird tweeting or an insect buzzing.

Han Ma finally broke the suffocating silence. “We're being too sensitive. It's nothing.”

“Maybe we were wrong.”

People often imagine that they hear things when they first come to the plateau. It's a symptom of altitude sickness. The tense atmosphere dissipated, and the two men began to give in to their exhaustion.

“Let's get the sleeping bags from the jeep.”

But when Han Ma stood up, they heard the sound again, clearly this time. The two men froze, staring into the night. The sound was coming from the darkness close to their tent. Darkness is like an empty vessel waiting for humans to fill it with their imaginings. In only a few seconds, it had been magically transformed into a multitude of scary possibilities.

A minute passed, or maybe it was ten minutes. Yang Yan couldn't stand the silence any longer.

“Could it be a wolf?” he said, his mouth dry.

As if proving that this was a possibility, one they had summoned into existence by having the courage to speak it out loud, a sound of clanking metal came from the dark, followed by a hairy face.

Yang Yan spun around in fear and grabbed the knife in his backpack.

“It's a dog,” Han Ma said, as his friend waved the knife in the direction of the still-indistinct shape, and clues started to appear. The animal's ears flopped down, and it was wearing a collar, so it had to be domesticated. It couldn't be a wolf.

The dog walked toward the fire. Its fur was a dusky gray, so covered in dust that it was difficult to tell its real color. Its eyes burned in the darkness, staring at them. Maybe because of the knife in Yang Yan's hand, the dog growled but didn't come any closer.

“Put the knife away. You're scaring it.”

Yang Yan had noticed how nervous the dog was. As soon as he tucked the knife away, it stopped growling, and its gaze moved straight to the pot full of congee.

“It must be hungry.” Han Ma picked up the pot and edged forward slowly. The dusty gray dog took a few cautious steps back. Han Ma placed the pot on the ground and then stepped back himself.

“Do you think it'll eat it?” Yang Yan said from a few yards away.

“Probably.”

The gray dog turned its head and gently sniffed the air, as if assessing the likelihood of danger. This slight movement revealed the source of the sound — the chains attached to its collar.

“It must belong to a herding family.”

“But we haven't seen any camps all day.”

“Maybe not, but this dog's domesticated. It can't just be wandering the grasslands by itself.”

Kelsang concluded that there was no danger of being captured for the moment, so he walked toward the pot of congee, his chains dragging behind him. Then, covering the pot with his enormous head, he gulped it down. Han Ma and Yang Yan watched as the gray dog ate.

It had been two days since his escape, and Kelsang had been unable to find anything to eat. He continued running long after the truck broke down, only stopping in a shallow depression to sleep as the sun rose over the horizon. He woke around midday feeling very hungry. There had been one advantage to being tied up by the man with the dark cheeks. Every day like clockwork he'd been given a juicy chunk of fresh mutton. It had given him a voracious appetite that was now hard to satisfy.