Path of the Eclipse (35 page)

There was one thing, Saint-Germain realized, that he could tell SGyi Zhel-ri, and he offered it as a gift. “Don’t shut yourself away. It is more … painful this way, but the other is worse than death. I … lived that way for too many years, and I paid the cost of it. It is seductive, the shutting away. Others with your ability have turned away from it because it demanded too much of them, but in doing that, they crippled themselves. That crippling”—he closed his eyes against his memories—“all the pain that compassion can bring is nothing compared to that withering of the soul. If your Abbot is an opportunist, you don’t have to let him contaminate your work. You have the power, not he, and you can choose the course you wish to take. SNyin Shes-rab’s position depends on you, and little though he may like it, he will accommodate your demands because if he did otherwise, he would lose everything.” He stopped, watching the boy’s face. “It’s little enough, SGyi Zhel-ri, but there is nothing else I can do. Even if I were to stay here, I could not protect you. In time SNyin Shes-rab would be rid of me, and then he would have a weapon to use against you.”

SGyi Zhel-ri nodded, his face closed. “I’m aware of that. It’s just that I wish it weren’t so.” He tugged at his robes, and looked at Saint-Germain. “It will be best, I think, if I go down to the courtyard now. I will see you before you depart.” He hesitated. “You did not have to help me.”

“Nor you me,” Saint-Germain reminded him, bowing formally to the boy.

His bow was returned. “I won’t forget you.” With that he turned and went out of the room.

The crowd in the courtyard was singing an apparently endless and repetitious song when Rogerio came up the stairs to help carry down the last of the baskets.

“How much longer, do you think?” Saint-Germain asked as his servant came into the room.

“The guides say that they will be ready to depart in three days’ time, at first light. They have agreed to allocate us an extra pony. That, with our own, will carry everything we need. I’ve asked about the purchase price of the pony, so that we may take it when we continue on.” He tactfully did not mention where they were going, for neither of them truly knew.

“Excellent.” He went to his little athanor, which was now cool. He opened the door and brought out a small crucible. “I haven’t been able to make much gold, but here”—he held out a few gleaming nuggets—“use this to pay for the pony and our passage. Do we have any strings of cash left?”

“Four or five of copper and brass, one of silver, one of gold.” Rogerio watched Saint-Germain expectantly. “Not very much.”

The sum was, in fact, quite large, but considerably less than what Saint-Germain had become accustomed to. “I’ll have to use the jewels, then. There aren’t very many of them left.” He went to the window and stared out at the mountains. “I wish we knew what has been happening in the world. Once we reach my house in Shiraz, there will be no difficulty. My laboratory there is well-equipped. Also, there is a considerable cache of gold and jewels hidden in the walls of the library. But until then…” He touched his fingers together. “We must be cautious until we reach Shiraz.”

“I will attend to it,” Rogerio assured him, looking around the room. “It’s all ready but the athanor and the scroll,” he remarked.

Saint-Germain’s expression had become remote. “Leave them,” he said quietly. “We can’t use the athanor while traveling, and I will need a larger one in any case. The chart … I know what’s on it.” He left the window as the sound of the singing went on and on.

That night there was feasting at the Bya-grub Me-long ye-shys lamasery and the revels lasted long into the night. Saint-Germain stayed in his quarters, hearing the revelry around him while he painstakingly translated a few of the texts SGyi Zhel-ri had lent him from Tibetan to Latin and Greek. He knew that he lacked fluency in the Tibetan language, and occasionally felt the frustration of it as he struggled to determine the exact meaning of a phrase. Shouts and songs echoed along the corridors as he wrote, though the lamasery fell silent long before he had finished his work.

The next day was devoted to religious ceremonies of a graver nature. Special tents were erected in the courtyard, and the lamas, in ceremonial vestments and headdresses, sat beneath them, prayer wheels turning, the reverential chants punctuated with the sporadic ringing of the gong. Toward evening SGyi Zhel-ri addressed the gathering, speaking on the wisdom of noninterference, pointing out that those who seek achievement and advancement through others would end by harming themselves as well as those they had used as tools.

“He’s being very forthright,” Rogerio said as he listened. “I still can’t catch it all, but it sounds as if he’s giving that Abbot of his a warning.”

Saint-Germain had not discussed the matter with his servant, but was not surprised that Rogerio had seen the problem. “It’s wise to stop that kind of jealousy as early as possible,” Saint-Germain agreed.

“The boy has a difficult life ahead of him.” He stepped back so that he leaned against the wall. “I was thinking of the parents of such a child. Were they grateful or sad when he came here? When my son died, I was glad that he had escaped his suffering, but there was a hole in my life that nothing can change. With a boy like that, what do his parents feel?”

“He’s not dead, that’s something,” Saint-Germain pointed out.

“But he’s gone far beyond them.”

“Yes.” Saint-Germain motioned Rogerio to be silent so that he could hear the rest of what SGyi Zhel-ri had to say.

That night a fast was kept by all but Saint-Germain. For the last time the woman BDeb-ypa came to him, and though their lovemaking was no different from any other night they had passed together, Saint-Germain was no longer troubled by it, and accepted what it was that she could give him when her pleasure reached its peak.

Before sunrise, Saint-Germain made his way through the halls of the Bya-grub Me-long ye-shys lamasery for the last time. His heeled boots gave sharp reports as he walked, interrupting the chanting that rose from the sanctuary. He and Rogerio had already loaded their ponies, taking the extra precaution of supplying each animal with a new packsaddle and girths. Now, while Rogerio finished the final negotiations with the guides, Saint-Germain returned to their quarters to get their traveling cloaks and individual saddlebags.

He stood in his room and found it oddly unfamiliar now that his things were gone. It was merely a chamber with white-painted walls and a minimum of furniture, a lama’s cell like any other monk’s cell in the world. Already he found it more like a memory than the room in which he had slept so few hours before. With an impatient gesture he caught up the two muffling fur cloaks and threw them over his arm, and was reaching for the saddlebags when he heard a sound behind him.

SGyi Zhel-ri was in the door. “I said I would talk to you again before you left.”

Saint-Germain smiled at the boy. “You did. I assumed you would come to see the party off.”

“No. You are the one I want to speak with, and I would rather not have to worry about what the lamas might say to the Abbot if I distinguished you so much. He’s not at all pleased with my speech to the visitors.” He came into the room and sat on the pallet. He looked tired, with smudges under his eyes and a listlessness in his movements. As if in confirmation, he yawned.

“You haven’t had much rest these last few days.” Saint-Germain sat on the plank table and watched SGyi Zhel-ri. He liked the boy, respected him, knew that he could do nothing that would spare him hurt.

“Very little. The celebrations are always like this. It’s as if we’re all mad for a time.” He blinked and forced his sleepy eyes to clear. “I have something for you.”

“For me? Why? If anyone should—” He was silenced by a gesture from the child.

“I have thought it over carefully, and I know that it is appropriate for me to do this.” He reached into the voluminous folds of his outer robe. “This is not from the lamasery. It is my own, and I want to give it to you.” In his hand he held a small bronze statue of the white Tara, Bodhisattva SGrol-ma Dkar-mo. The figure sat with folded legs, her left hand raised, her right extended. On her forehead, her palms and the soles of her feet were eyes painted the intense blue of the pacific manifestations.

“The Lady of Compassion,” Saint-Germain said quietly as he took the little statue. He recalled with an intensity that snagged the words he would have said in his throat the night in the darkened chapel to SGroi-ma Dkar-mo.

“Take her with you,” SGyi Zhel-ri said. He smiled as he got to his feet. “We will not meet again in this life, I think. This way each of us will have cause to remember.”

“I don’t need a piece of metal to remind me,” Saint-Germain said gently.

“But take it, anyway.” He bowed. “I should say that you should incur no karma and depart from the Wheel, but that is not your Path. I will only wish that you find what you are seeking.” He watched while Saint-Germain bowed to him. “Good-bye,” he said when their eyes met.

“Will you take anything from me?” Saint-Germain asked, unable to think of what in his possession the child might want.

“No. You will have more need of gifts than I.” With that he turned away and left the room.

The rising sun had turned the snow to rainbows of gems as the train of thirty-four ponies passed through the high outer gates of the Bya-grub Me-long ye-shys lamasery. Saint-Germain, riding toward the rear of the line, turned in the saddle to look back once, and then set his face to the south.

A dispatch from a merchant of Herat to his brother-in-law, a merchant in the city of Rai.

It has pleased Allah, the All-merciful and All-wise, to bring a terrible scourge on his impious people, dear Khuda, and for that reason I take time to warn you of what has befallen us here in Herat.

Surely you know, as all of us do, of the misfortunes that have been visited on those far to the east of us, whom we, in our pride, thought deserving of such a visitation of disasters. The Old Silk Road has been most unreliable for more than six years, and we have thought that it was fitting that those who have not heard the call and acclaimed Allah as the One God should be made to suffer, and so we consoled ourselves. But this is not how it chances now.

The great numbers of Mongols we have heard of and have dismissed as the ravings of terrified men are not any more than the truth. I have just this day returned, thanks be to Allah, from a short expedition into the mountains to meet with traders, as has been my custom, as you know, these past twelve years. This time I arrived to find a smoking ruin and the people hacked to bits and the bits stacked up for the carrion birds. The creatures who did this, for of a certainty they are demons and not men, are moving westward with the rapidity of a storm, and it is a deluge indeed that they bring with them.

In the past six days a pitiful few survivors of that village, and of other villages treated with similar ferocity, have come into Herat with little more than their skins as wealth. Yet for that they are grateful and send up true praises to Allah for sparing them from the deaths they saw visited upon their friends and relatives. Every one tells tales of such brutality and horror that the listeners are stupefied by the magnitude of it.

As it is now certain that these invaders are most certainly determined to invade our country, I propose to journey with my family to your city of Rai, for is quite apparent to me that Herat will have to face these murderous warriors before too many months pass. I do not intend, Allah willing, to see my wives and children fall victims to the Mongol horsemen. Therefore I pray that you will be pleased to welcome us into your house until this terrible evil has been driven from our city and our land. As my second wife is your sister and we are brothers for her sake and for the sake of our trade, do not turn us away, for it is clearly apparent that to remain here is courting death.

We have been told that all of Persia will rise to hold off these men, but I am not convinced that there will be enough time to present real opposition here at Herat. Already we hear the name of the Mongol leader, Jenghiz Khan, used as a standard for describing the worst that can be wished upon any living being. He is more terrifying than earthquakes and floods, and when his men come over the land, either of those natural catastrophes is preferable. The Mongols will darken all the earth with our blood. May Allah preserve us from their predations.

Look for us to come to you in a month. We will require four days to pack the most essential of our household goods and make proper arrangements for business so that our trade does not suffer unnecessarily. It is my intention to make all due speed in our journey, but as it is summer it will not be possible to press on as quickly as I would wish possible. I have sent word to various way stations and requested that they have accommodations for us when we arrive. After all these years of doing business with them, it is little enough to ask that they find a place for us at this time.

All is in the hands of Allah, yet the wise man acts with prudence in the face of danger, and it is not the way of the coward to abandon that position which is clearly untenable. There are warriors who will face the Mongols and most assuredly defeat them completely. For those of us who are not capable of feats of arms, it is sensible to get out of the way.

Pray that when we meet we have lost no more than our houses and some of our goods, as truly it is from the men of Shaitan that we flee. If all we must lose is a portion of wealth, it is cheaply enough purchased.

By messenger at sunset, twelfth day of Rajab, the 595th year since the Hejira.

8

At Lhasa five of the lamas left the party, going to join their fellow Yellow Hats at the main chapterhouse. The guides ordered a resting period of two days in the royal city while they searched for others traveling south. There was a curious grandeur to Lhasa. It sat in a long river valley betweeen two massive ranges of mountains. Though the whole of the country was very high, these peaks reached even higher. Climate dictated sturdy, simple houses, and for the most part Lhasa was a mass of high thick walls and sloping roofs. Only the royal palace stood out, for though it was much the same design as the other buildings, its roofs were elaborate, the cornices and roof beams ornamented and lavishly painted. Three lamaseries clustered at its feet, silent indicators of the increasing role religion played in the life of the court.