Nothing moved but them. A heat haze soon hung on the horizon as the last effects of the storm evaporated quickly in the dry air, making the outcrops of rock ahead dance and shimmer. The effect became so disorienting that Banks took to walking with his gaze fixed only five paces in front of him.
He maintained his loping stride and fell into that almost restful watching state that came from many hours of carrying packs in boring terrain. He put one foot in front of the other, thoughts drifting, almost asleep in one sense but some part of him always wary, like a cat, ready for action should the need arise.
He was almost surprised to find they’d been walking for nearly two hours when Hynd called them to a halt from the front.
“Something for you to see to the West, Cap,” he said when Banks walked forward to join him.”
“What is it, Sarge?”
Hynd pointed out into the desert. “Keep your eyes on a patch fifty yards out. Buggered if I know what’s causing it though.”
Banks quickly saw what the sergeant meant; the surface of the desert was rising and falling like waves on an ocean. The phenomenon covered an area the size of a football pitch and the soft swish and whisper of shifting sands accompanied the rise and fall of the ground.
“Professor? You ever seen anything like this?”
Gillings, up on the camel and with an even better view, shook his head.
“It’s a new one on me. Maybe that’s where all the water from the storm ended up? Could be that it’s running away below there, causing the movement we’re seeing?”
“Sounds as plausible as anything I can come up with,” Banks replied, then noticed that the camel the professor rode on was trembling all over its body, its eyes wide with what looked like terror.
“Whatever it is, it’s spooking your beast and as long as it’s over there, it’s not over here. Let’s move out.” He looked ahead. They were closing in on another of the larger rocky outcrops and now that they were nearer, he saw that this one appeared to be larger than the previous ones and showed signs of habitation, having a tightly packed cluster of wooden buildings perched like a hat on the summit. “We need somewhere to rest up for a couple of hours. Let’s see if the locals are friendly.”
- 4 -
Donnie had never driven out in this direction from their dig but he knew where they were; they’d had visitors over the summer who’d come across the desert and those herdsmen had spoken of a temple on the plains, a place of silence and ritual, closed to outsiders. Donnie thought of alerting Captain Banks to the fact, but the professor hadn’t said anything at the captain’s suggestion, so he let it ride. Besides, he wasn’t about to turn down a chance to get a glimpse of what was surely a place full of history and artifacts.
They arrived at the foot of the outcrop ten minutes later then made their slow way up towards the buildings on the top. The pathway to the monastery wound in a tight spiral around the tall outcrop. Almost at the peak it came to a halt at an ancient wooden gateway flanked by twin pillars, polished tree trunks that had to have come from a very long way away from this arid desert. The large double door, closed against them, was intricately carved and polished smooth as if by the touch of many pilgrims’ hands. It rang, almost like a bell, when Captain Banks rapped twice on it with his knuckles.
For long seconds, Donnie thought there would be no answer and they’d be left on the doorstep like Bible salesmen but finally, with a creak that echoed across the plain, the double door opened inwards and a small bald man in a purple silk robe stood in the entrance. He smiled, eyes twinkling but put a hand across his mouth when Banks looked as if he might speak. Only when he saw that silence would be observed did he allow them to pass through. The small man seemed anxious despite his smile and hurried them all, camel included, through the doorway, closing it firmly behind them. He belied his stature by lifting a huge latch of wood into place to bar the entrance. Indicating that they should follow, he scurried away up a narrow path between dark, tightly clustered buildings. The only sign of other movement was the flutter of long red and yellow silk pennants high above, held by a forest of tall poles above the clay-tiled rooftops.
The wood from which the whole place had been built looked almost black down here in the alleyway and it had been polished to a sheen that shone almost high enough to reflect their faces back at them. They ascended a long set of stone steps worn smooth by time and the feet of many celebrants and were led, finally, to the very top of the outcrop.
They found what appeared to be the total populace of the monastery gathered in the tallest building, a high-sided temple, almost a pagoda, rising in three distinct floors above the outcrop. The monks, some thirty of them, were gathered together on the lowest floor area, a cubic space with a deep circular eight-foot diameter well sunk perfectly in the center of the floor. All of the gathered monks proved to be as equally bald and diminutive as the one they’d already seen and although all were smiling, Donnie sensed the same nervous tension in them all.
Everything proceeded in strict silence. Donnie saw Corporal Wiggins champing at the bit to say something but the captain kept him in check with a stern gaze. They were served, almost ceremoniously, with bowls of saffron-scented rice topped with dark succulent berries and drank from high-polished wooden cups filled to the brim with crisp, clear—and almost icy cold—water that seemed to fill all the dry places inside Donnie at once. Even the camel seemed pleased with the offerings. It let out a loud bray of happiness that had the monks smiling again even as the sound echoed and rang around their silent temple.
They left the beast in the care of a red-robed monk while they were given a tour—a silent tour—of the temple itself. It was mostly empty; the two huge upper rooms built from more of the dark polished wood with panoramic views over the desert were obviously sleeping quarters but seemed to have no other purpose. There was no lighting apart from what daylight made its way inside, but it was enough for Donnie to see that the interior walls, every part of them, were intricately carved. He stepped over for a closer look.
In the main, it was a telling of the life of Gautama Buddha —Donnie had seen the likes of these in other temples on his travels in this country but where this differed was in the added depictions of what he could only describe as some kind of monstrous apocalypse.
The story ran along the wall opposite the main window on the uppermost floor. Both Donnie and Gillings traced the carvings with their fingers. The soldiers meanwhile stood by the window, looking out over the view.
Donnie was captivated, although he couldn’t make too much sense of what the carvings were trying to convey; there was obviously meant to be some kind of disaster besetting the monastery on the outcrop—perfectly depicted in miniature in the wood but the nature of the attacking force was confusing. It looked to be a combination of some kind of stylized dragon and great worms, scores, hundreds of them. Donnie heard the professor whisper beside him, a question, speaking to himself, repeating words Donnie had heard him speak earlier.
“Olgoi-khorkhoi?”
The room seemed to pick up and amplify the words, echoing them around and back on themselves. Donnie saw, too late, the dismay on the faces of the monks accompanying them in this chamber. The purple-robed monk—Donnie assumed him to be the elder—came over at a run, put a hand to his mouth, and then pointed at the professor, who had the good grace to look ashamed of himself. Gillings managed to indicate that he was sorry and that, and a conciliatory bow, seemed to placate the monk.
But it looked like the tour was over. Captain Banks pointed at his watch and the door, his intent clear. They descended the stairs to the main hallway of the temple below them—only to find the doors being closed to prevent their exit. Donnie wondered whether they might have given some kind of offence with the professor’s whispering upstairs but the monks continued to smile, although when Banks made for the door, six of them stood in his path, palms up in front of them, their intent also clear.