Kingdom (39 page)

She imagined him lying there, like an idol, his breath rattling in his throat. His heart was cold, she thought, and this thought held her in its grip. Events in his life had cut him off from humanity, and so he had sought meaning in the dream of a retreat, a place far beyond the grasp of ordinary men. He was a victim of the war; he had not been physically wounded, but he had been psychically damaged. She wondered if it was this – that he was cold and damaged and everything he said had simply been speaking of this and nothing more. But she knew it was more than that.

Jen was the first to speak, his voice sounding strained and weary.

‘So we all had access to the Book of Dzyan all along, all these years. It is the Oracle. And you believe it has been controlling us all this time? All of us . . .’

Herzog coughed feebly.

‘Yes, absolutely. Anyone who opens its pages and asks it a question instantly falls under its spell. We have been driven by the Oracle, each to this point. It causes wars and upheavals, it drives whole nations and it drives single men and women. The King of Shangri-La spoke the truth: World War Two, all the great events in the history of mankind, have their origins in the kingdom of Shangri-La, brought into being by hidden masters working with the Oracle. The Oracle controls all who look into her.’

‘So you are saying the Oracle brought me to Tibet, that it was the Oracle and not you who summoned me?’ said Nancy.

‘You know the answer to that better than I do, but I can tell you that it was the Oracle that made me send you the bone, it was the Oracle that told me to recommend you to Dan Fischer as my replacement in the event of any unforeseen events. The Oracle made it clear that was what I must do. It summoned you, it advised you; it knew you would play a part,’ said Herzog.

Now Jack, with an edge of panic in his voice, tried to refute the dying man.

‘Herzog, this is all madness. What you are saying defies truth. The world cannot work like this. Shangri-La doesn’t exist, there is no secret kingdom that controls the world and you have no proof that the Book of Dzyan is the Oracle. You never had time to look for it; you never saw it. And besides, your story does not even make sense in its own terms. Even if we accept – for the sake of argument – that Shangri-La does exist and that the Oracle is the Book of Dzyan and that it conducted you there, then why would it let you escape? Why would it let you refuse the destiny that it had created for you? Do you not see? The Book of Dzyan has failed, even from your own testimony?’

A weak and fading voice whispered back in the darkness.

‘You’ve missed the whole point. Everything I have said.’

‘No, you’ve missed the point. You’ve failed to comprehend your own story, Herzog. You’re ailing and confused and you can’t distinguish dream from reality.’

The skull face creased again into a grotesque leer, and Herzog’s ravaged hands moved in the flickering light. ‘I am both of these things. Yet about this I have absolute clarity. The Oracle knew I would fail. It knew my weaknesses long before I did. It knew I would try to evade my destiny, that I would escape from Shangri-La. Of course it did, it sees everything long before we can even imagine it. And so it summoned Nancy, with the bone, and through Nancy you were brought here – the only man in Delhi who could have helped her find me. It knew that Nancy would take the bone to you. And this man Jen has been conducted by the Oracle to bring you the last miles of the route. You have all been controlled, in order that you will save me, that I will be given one last chance, for I am the chosen one . . .’

‘The chosen one.’ Jack Adams repeated his words, his lip curled, half in contempt and half in fear.

‘One chance to do what?’ said Nancy, though even now she feared she knew the answer.

‘To return to Shangri-La. To correct my error. For I am now certain I was in error, that my escape was a terrible thing to have done. These last days with the monks I have had time to think, time to sift the wheat from the chaff, time to understand. I had it all wrong. The Oracle is our mother and father, no use running from it, there is no use trying to evade its plans. And besides, we would never be happy if we were to do so. I realize now the truth. My path is clear. I must return there; the prodigal son.’

‘Look, Anton,’ Jack was saying, as if he was hoping by a frank appeal that he could persuade the wraith to change his story, to admit he had been lying all along. ‘Let’s think of it like this. You got lost and ill and some shamans found you – that part of your story I accept. You saw them using the tortoise shell and your mind wove this extraordinary tale, to make up for the fact that you never made it to Shangri-La, that you never did see the Book of Dzyan. But even you know that is ridiculous. You want to try again because you never even got there.’

‘No, I was there. That’s certain enough to me. I spoke to the King and I saw the shamans using the tortoise shell, using nature herself to construct hexagrams. The King of Shangri-La spoke the truth and the Oracle is the Book of Dzyan. The world turns according to her writ. Empires rise and fall, peoples are awakened from their slumbers by the kings of Shangri-La and set to work, to achieve great things that they could never understand,’ said Herzog, his voice so frail now that they had to lean forward to hear him.

‘But why do you want to return to that barbaric place?’ interrupted Nancy.

‘Because I understand now. As soon as I saw the tortoise shell I understood. It is my destiny. I was afraid when I saw the King on the parapet, the prisoner, the sacrifice. I was terrified, and in my weakness I could only think of saving my small human self, my insignificant person. But when those people saved me, I realized the truth. I must return. I must accept my allotted role. In the end it is better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven. And a King does not choose to become King; he is appointed – by forces greater than himself. And Nancy, this is the other matter, as decreed by the Oracle. You must come with me; you are to be my Queen. Together we will plunge the world into the greatest war that has ever been known, and from the flames of our destruction will be born the superman and he will rise up like a phoenix to rule over the purified races of mankind. Come with me. The
Götterdämmerung
draws near.’

Nancy recoiled, horrified by his words.

‘You really are crazy,’ said Jack angrily.

And Nancy too, though she understood something of the force of the Oracle, though she was prepared to believe almost anything, so strange had her journey been, finally agreed with Jack: that Herzog’s reason had cracked under the strain. That he was rambling insanely in the darkness.

‘You are ignorant, Jack, and you will always deny what you do not comprehend,’ Herzog was saying, in a furious whisper. ‘Leave me here. They will come for me from Shangri-La, just as the King predicted. They will come and get me. You will see. They will come.’

‘Insane,’ said Jack after a long silence. ‘This is all insane.’ Then suddenly he stirred himself. ‘Come on. We have to go. The Chinese army could get here any moment. Jen, what are you going to do?’

Jen was silent, as if for the first time since they’d met he wasn’t sure what he would do. Ever since Herzog had begun his story, Jen had been shrinking further and further away from him, as if he was shunning the real implications of his story. Though he had wanted the Book of Dzyan, thought Nancy, he seemed repelled by the journey Herzog had taken, by precisely what possessing this book might entail. Now he was immobile, mute, as if Herzog had turned him to stone.

‘Jen, please!’ said Jack, more urgently. ‘We’ve lingered here too long.’

Slowly, with a great effort, Jen raised his head.

‘Yes, you are right. We must go. I must return to Beijing and consult with my Brotherhood. In the light of this new information my quest for the Book of Dzyan seems superfluous. Everything I have suffered has been in vain. We have had it all along.’

‘Jen, get a grip,’ said Jack in a hoarse whisper. ‘Herzog is completely deranged.’

‘You are wrong, Jack. I fear that Herzog speaks the truth. My presence here is proof itself: it was the Oracle that brought me here today, that took me to Litang gompa and led me into the forest. At every turn I consulted it. As much as it makes me sick to say it, at every turn I followed its command.’

Jack almost growled at him. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Coincidences. You would have come anyway. These are the tall tales of an opium eater . . . you should ignore everything he’s said and come with us.’

Nancy was crouching over the body of Anton Herzog, oblivious to their disagreement.

‘What do we do with him?’

Jack didn’t answer and didn’t even look at her. They had passed an entire night listening to Herzog, it seemed, and now it was morning. She hadn’t noticed the time. And now she looked again at the ruined man before her. His face had collapsed, his eyes were shut tightly, as if he was in grave pain. His mouth moved but no sound came.

‘Will he live?’ she said to Jack urgently, desperate for him to say something.

Jack shook his head. ‘Not if we move him. And if we leave him . . .’ He left her to draw her own conclusions.

Tears began to form in Nancy’s eyes; she tried to fight them back. Jack put his hand on her shoulder.

‘He is not in pain. The opium will see to that.’

Jen was sorting through his backpack, making ready for his own journey. Suddenly he turned to Nancy and said, ‘Wait, Nancy, I have one last idea. Do you have a copy of the Oracle?’

‘Yes.’

She hitched her bag off her shoulder and took out the book and lay it on the dusty path. It emanated a living energy – a dark energy. She could feel Jack behind her, taut with exasperation. But she continued nonetheless.

‘Have you got a coin?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

Jen raised himself on to one knee and delved a coin out of his pocket. She looked at him apprehensively.

‘And the question?’

Jen held her gaze for a second, then he looked down at the book and placing his hand on its cover he said, first in Chinese and then in English, ‘Oracle, is there any truth in the story of Anton Herzog: is it true that you are the Book of Dzyan?’

Nancy took a deep breath and began to flick the coin. As she did so, Jen registered the results in the sand with his fingertip. When she had thrown the coin six times, the hexagram was assembled. All colour drained from Jen’s face. In a flat voice empty of strength he said, ‘Sun at the top. Tui at the bottom. Empty is the centre.’

With fear in her eyes she asked, ‘Do you know what hexagram it is – without looking at the book?’

‘Yes,’ he replied, scrutinizing her with an almost angry expression.

Her voice cracking with emotion, she beseeched him, ‘Tell me, please.’

‘It’s Chung Fu. Inner Truth.’ Jen’s lips curled in fear.

Before Nancy could say anything he spoke again, in a voice filled with anguish, ‘It means that Anton Herzog speaks the truth. It means that Shangri-La does exist and that the Oracle is the Book of Dzyan.’

Jen turned away, immersed in his own thoughts. For a minute all was silence, then finally, as if breaking a magic spell, Jack leaned forward and brushed his hand over the sand, erasing the hexagram altogether. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders and said in a whisper, ‘Come on. It’s time to go.’

The fires and the lanterns of the Chinese soldiers who were coming for Anton Herzog twinkled below and in the far distance, down the dark valley, Nancy could see the eerie orange glow of Metok, the last outpost of Tibet before the Indian border.

‘You must continue up this path,’ Jen said in the darkness. ‘I am going in the other direction, to the Gobi, to consult with my Brotherhood, to bring them the terrible news. Get some sleep once you have crossed the pass, and then continue over the plateau and you will come to a tribe of salt traders. They will take you to the Indian border, where the Yarlang Tsangpo goes over the falls. There is a path there, a steep hard path, but you will make it. It will take you through the mountains to the banks of the Brahmaputra; follow the Holy River and you will find human habitations soon enough. Do you have any gold?’

‘I have some Renmenbi,’ said Jack.

‘That’s no good up there.’ Swiftly, Jen unbuttoned his jacket. He tore at the inner lining and produced a single hoop of gold.

‘Here. Take this. It weighs three ounces. Give it to the leader of the salt-trading clan and give him these as well.’

He produced some small pieces of card.

‘They are photos of His Holiness the Dalai Lama. They are illegal in Tibet, as Herzog said, they are greatly prized, and it should stop the salt traders robbing you. Now, if I could take some of your tsampa and water, then I think we are all ready to part company.’

Jack nodded his thanks.

‘I will repay you the gold, if I can find you,’ he said.

‘Don’t worry about that. You saved my life. Just get going and don’t look back.’

Nancy was still in shock, only half taking in the conversation.

‘And Herzog?’

Jen was silent, but it was a silence that spoke volumes. Then he said, slowly, ‘I will administer him one more pipe. We will leave him with a full pipe as well. There is nothing more anyone can do. We cannot possibly move him, and if we stay longer we will all be captured or killed.’

Amongst the three of them, there was an unspoken sense of relief that they had no choice but to abandon the dying Anton Herzog. He would never return to Delhi to recover, he would never be able to mount a second expedition and return to Shangri-La, if indeed it existed. He would die alone, and thus his spell would be broken once and for all, and by turning their backs on him they would banish his awful truth and ensure that free will triumphed; his ghastly and fantastic conspiracy was nothing more than a nightmare. Yet it was awful, nonetheless, to leave him, and Nancy stood for a moment looking down at the husk of Anton Herzog: a legendary journalist, and brilliant scholar, who would now die – crazy and alone, somewhere in this treacherous land. And she turned away, weeping bitterly, into the savage jungle. Far off, the low drone of an aircraft could be heard. It was time to go. With a last farewell, Jen walked away along the path and then they turned and began the final ascent.