by Unknown
Difficult and dangerous, the mountains were home to the Tifun Empire, a warlike and barbarous realm. The Tifun Khans were masters of the mountains, and from the peaks their armies had defied all others. Those thoughts sent her mind back to the reason she and Biao Mei were there, to a meeting in Kendar weeks before.
#
“The Empire is two gourds on a vine,” Ro Min had said. “The Eastern heartland is connected to the Western Protectorates by the Ang-Xi Corridor, which lies between the Tifun Empire to the south and the nomads to the north. The Empire can hold off either, but if they should unite they could cut the corridor and divide the Empire in two.” She did not add that Kendar was in the west.
“There have been rumors of messages and gifts between the Tifun Khans and the nomad khans,” Lin Mei had said.
“That is true,” Ro Min replied. “The messages concern us most. The Empire’s Ministers for the Barbarian Lands have used diplomacy and gifts to keep the nomad tribes divided and hostile to the Tifun Khans. But of late the Tifun Khans have pursued a policy of friendship between their lands and the nomads. Tifun covets the Empire’s Western lands. Not only are they a source of wealth, but they control the trade routes around the mountains and down into the land of Hind. The loss of the Western Protectorates would greatly harm the Empire.”
“And place the armies of Tifun on the Empire’s borders,” Lin Mei observed.
“That is so,” Ro Min agreed. “We have a man in the Taktsang Palphug Monastery. It is on the border of Tifun and overlooks the Ang-Xi corridor. You will go and meet him, and bring back any messages he may have.” She stopped to take a sip of tea.
“His task at the monastery is to copy sacred texts. Your mission, if anyone needs to know, is to bring back copies of those texts. Any messages he has for the Western Agency,” she added, referring to one of the two major spy services of the Empire, “will be hidden in the texts.”
Lin Mei studied her for a moment.
“This is a task that could easily be done by anyone else,” she noted. “You have some other reason for sending us?” Ro Min smiled.
“I have seen how the young Prince Firuz looks at you,” she said. “Even if he is an exile, he is still a prince, and attention from someone in the upper ranks can be troublesome.”
Lin Mei nodded. On a prior mission to Khotan she and her brother had encountered a party of royal refugees fleeing an invading army. The young prince had been a witness to the events surrounding an attempted palace coup against the ruling Iskanderi, a coup Lin Mei and her brother, with help from their two cats, had foiled. He now had a severe case of hero worship, bordering on infatuation.
“By the time this mission is done, he should be in the Capitol,” she said. Ro Min had smiled in conspiratorial agreement.
“I have spoken with his mother,” she said. “Prince Firuz will be the toast of the Capitol, with many young ladies vying for his eye. She will see he is suitably distracted.”
“Who is this man we shall meet?” Lin Mei asked.
“A young monk named Kalsang Rampa.”
#
Kalsang Rampa was now dead. Lin Mei set her lips in a thin line. Somewhere inside her was an annoying feeling that it was no coincidence. With thoughts darker than the clouds overhead she stared off across the plain below.
Her heart stopped. Off in the distance, barely visible under the towering clouds was another cloud, dust kicked up by hooves. She eyed the cloud, noting the size. This was no caravan.
She ran back inside. “An army on the approach!” she shouted to two monks she saw just inside, pointing off in the direction of the horizon. With worried frowns they followed her outside. For a few moments they looked somberly off into the distance, before the older of the two snorted with a muffled laugh.
“No, younger sister,” he said with a good-natured smile. “It is the return of Tenzin Yonten from Qartik.”
“Qartik?” she asked, puzzled. She could recall no such land.
“Qartik,” the monk explained. “It is the gathering of tribute.” Understanding brightened her face, along with relief that it was nothing more serious. During their travels they had sometimes come across herds of livestock and caravans loaded with goods traveling toward the monasteries that dotted the mountains. It was the custom of the monasteries to send out parties to take gifts of sacred texts to the lords of other lands, and in return gather offerings of goods and livestock. Those offerings could be quite substantial, especially from the nomad khans.
The younger of the two monks had already run off into the monastery to spread the news, Lin Mei and the older man following at a more sedate pace. Up ahead she could see a crowd streaming out of the main temple. She had not expected the funerary rituals would be over so soon. She smiled. Apparently the arrival of so much wealth took precedence over propriety.
She met Biao Mei on the lane. “You have heard?” she asked. He nodded.
“Qartik,” he said. “There will be feasting to strengthen the monks for the lengthy and difficult purification rituals.”
“It can only help,” she replied. She led him aside to a quiet alley and told him of her talk with Kunchen Lobsang.
“Kalsang Rampa’s death is very convenient,” he said in a low voice, “if anyone wanted to hide something. And the sudden arrival of the Qartik from the nomad lands is also suspicious.”
“A good way of carrying messages,” she agreed. “This may be a good time to see to our weapons.” He nodded and they headed back to their quarters.
There they found Shadow and Twilight already awake and prowling the room. She tossed them strips of dried meat and went to her sword and daggers, which she had left rolled up in her bedding.
“So you do not think Kalsang Rampa’s death was just an attack by a tiger?” she asked, while passing an oiled rag over her blade. He shook his head.
“Why leave so much meat behind? And if a tiger leaps onto or over a wall, why would it leave a paw print on the wall, as if it was a seal on a manuscript? And the damage done to the body was excessive. Tigers kill to eat. Once the prey is dead, why continue to slash and bite?”
“You suspect a Tiger’s Claw?” she asked, referring to the multi-bladed weapon worn like a gauntlet. He nodded.
“Weapons like that are found in these lands,” he said.
“Let us keep our daggers hidden under our coats,” she said. He gave no argument to that.
Outside they found a commotion and an almost festive air, quite a change from the somber dread that had prevailed just a short while before. Monks streamed down the narrow road leading down from the mountainside. Others, organized into what seemed to be work gangs, ran toward the storerooms and warehouses on the upper levels of the compound. Somewhere someone rang a bronze gong in what seemed to be a joyous celebration.
“Let us ride our horses down,” she suggested. “We will get there sooner.”
“And if we are on horseback we can wear our swords without their appearing out of place,” he added. She smiled in agreement.
It was almost noon before they reached the flat land below. The monks had gathered at the base of the mountain. The herd was still off in the distance, although noticeably closer than before. They set off to meet it.
As they approached they saw well-armed riders coming to meet them. Keeping their hands in sight, they slowed their mounts.
“Who are you?” the leader of the approaching horsemen called out.
“We are servants of the Son of Heaven,” Biao Mei called back. “We are on a mission to Taktsang Palphug to take back copies of sacred texts for the Daci’en monastery in Chang’An. We saw your approach and rode out to meet you.”
Lin Mei eyed the approaching riders warily. Swords and daggers were no match for seven lances, not to mention the short nomad bows hanging from saddles. She need not have worried. Chuluun Battar, as their leader was called, wanted to gossip. As he and Biao exchanged news they all rode back to the herd, Lin Mei taking the opportunity to examine the nom
ads closely. She was closer to them than she had ever wanted to be, and this was an excellent chance to assess them.
Clad in wool and hard leather armor, and armed with lances, bows, short swords and axes, they were formidable in appearance. They rode their shaggy steppe ponies with the ease of experience, and their weapons appeared well-used. But they were in a happy mood, laughing and joking, as they rode along under leaden skies.
Ahead they saw an ox-drawn cart with a silk canopy. As they approached the man seated in the rear turned to face them.
“Tenzin Yonten,” the nomad leader explained. They came to a stop near the cart. Tenzin Yonten eyed them carefully, taking in every detail.
“You are from the Empire,” he said.
“That is so, Rimpoche,” Biao Mei replied respectfully. “We are here to take copies of sacred texts back into the Empire.” Lin Mei kept her face impassive. Tenzin Yonten was obviously from the mountains to the south, with the lean build and harsh face of a Khampa, the wild nomads of the plateau. All around them were steppe nomads. Often in the past the armies of the Empire had clashed with both. From the corner of her eye Lin Mei saw only cheerful faces. But she reminded herself it might be because they were at the mercy of the riders.
“We are pleased that the wisdom of the Enlightened One will be known to the people of the Empire,” the monk said. His hand flicked his fly whisk of white yak hair vaguely toward the east. Both Biao Mei and Lin Mei bowed low in the saddle toward the monk. He flicked his fly whisk again and the cart began to roll once more.
At the base of the mountain, where the narrow road met the steppe, a throng of young monks waited with a palanquin. Tenzin Yonten was transferred from the ox-cart to the palanquin without touching ground, and the procession made its way up to Taktsang Palphug. Looking down Lin Mei could see the livestock being herded toward the mouth of a valley, which led to winter grazing grounds. She realized how wealthy and powerful the monastery was. It occurred to her with a chill that the monasteries, and the monks that ran them, were the true rulers of the mountains of Tifun, and the steppe nomads, for all their wild and barbaric nature, were strong believers in their teachings. The threat of an alliance was suddenly very real.
At the monastery Tenzin Yonten alighted and strode through the gate to be met with the cheers and greetings of a returning conqueror. Behind them monks made their way up the road bearing bales of tribute to be taken to the storerooms of the monastery. No one seemed too concerned about Chuluun Battar and his party, who had now grown to about twenty armed men. Lin and Biao Mei managed to separate themselves from the throng without attracting too much attention and returned to their quarters, to be met with baleful glares from the two cats.
“Unhappy at being neglected for so long,” Biao Mei observed. Lin Mei smiled and tossed Shadow another strip of dried meat before taking a seat on a yak-hair mat. Twilight curled up on her lap.
“The nomads seem well-disposed to the monks,” she observed. Biao Mei nodded, his face grim.
“Tenzin Yonten spent several months in the nomad lands, meeting with their khans,” he said. “They could have discussed an alliance.”
“Among other things,” Lin Mei replied. “But why was Kalsang Rampa killed, and by whom?”
“There is more to this than Tenzin Yonten,” Biao Mei said. Lin Mei nodded.
“We need to learn more,” she said, standing and dropping Twilight on the mat. “I will go out and see if there is more to learn. Maybe you can spend some time with the nomads, and see what they may say? Take a jar of rice wine.”
“Good idea,” Biao Mei said. Lin Mei tossed two more strips of meat to the cats and refilled the bowl of water she had set out for them. After slipping their daggers inside their quilted coats they went out.
On an impulse Lin Mei decided to visit Kunchen Lobsang again. By now it was late afternoon and shadows slanted long down the mountain and out on the plain. The old man was brewing tea when she entered his rooms, bowing low at the doorway.
“This one seeks understanding,” she greeted.
“I can offer you tea,” he replied, grinning. Along with tea laced with butter and salt he offered tsampa, the barley bread of the mountains, and strips of roasted meat, which Lin Mei suspected came from some of the newly arrived livestock. He confirmed her guess.
“Not all of the tribute will stay here at Taktsang Palphug,” he said. “Most we share with the people of the land, as they share what they have with us.” Lin Mei nodded in understanding. It was a common practice. The monasteries gathered goods as tribute from their own lands as well as those far away, and then distributed them near and far. It was a form of trade, with the monasteries at the center of a vast network of commerce and industry.
“Has there been any more news of the tiger that killed Kalsang Rampa?” she asked after a few polite sips of tea.
“Much talk, but little real news.” He smiled. “It is always that way.”
“We have found it so,” she agreed, biting off a piece of tsampa. She looked at him for a moment, deciding how much to share, then decided to take the risk.
“It was odd,” she began, “that we heard no sound, even though we were so close to the scene. There was not even a cry.”
“It must have been quick,” the old man replied, taking another sip of tea, “and a surprise.”
“Was he working late?” she asked. “I would imagine that he normally would have been asleep in his room at that time of night.” He shook his head.
“The task of copying the scrolls for the Daci’en monastery had been finished.” She looked about at the scrolls lying about. He smiled.
“I believe he had them bundled and in storage in the Norbu Pema,” he said. “That is the storeroom next to the main temple.” Lin Mei looked at him for a moment. Was that an invitation? She thought carefully for a moment.
“The northern nomads seem very devout,” she noted. “Certainly they have been generous.”
“They are followers of the path of the Enlightened One,” he replied smiling, “although their faith, while strong, is simple and not fully comprehending. Still, their fervor earns them merit.”
“That is also true of the people of the mountains?” she asked. He laughed softly at that.
“You speak truth,” he said. “But not all in the mountains follow that path. The old religion of Bon is still strong, among all classes.” Lin Mei’s face stayed placid, but the words rang clear. They had been in Tifun, and had seen the power of the priests of the old religion, and of the shamans of darker magic of Bon. One of them had been an advisor to the Tifun Khan. She glanced at the small window high on the wall.
“It is getting late,” she said. I must thank you for your hospitality.”
“I take grace from your visit,” the monk replied.
After a few more pleasantries she left.
Outside darkness had fallen. The streets and alleys were deserted, although the sound of merrymaking came from nearby buildings. It seemed as if Kalsang Rampa’s rites would have to wait. That suited what she had in mind.
The cats seemed to sense her plans. They were up and prowling, eager to go out. Her brother was running a whetstone along the edge of his sword blade. She checked her own sword and daggers. They could have split a hair.
“The nomads seem happy,” he told her. “This is like a holiday for them. But I notice they drank little, and kept their weapons close.”
“Odd, if they are on holiday,” she said. “But we’ll eat first.” Her brother nodded. No need to explain what she meant.
When they went out night had already fallen. They made their way down the street, silent in their felt boots, Shadow and Twilight prowling ahead. Lin Mei did not meld her senses with theirs. Not yet.
Idly she wondered about her brother. He had taken the sudden change in their mission with equanimity. She knew he was not one of those men who enjoyed fighting for its own sake, and the thrill of adventure held no appeal for him. They had lived long in the western lands,
where romantic notions died sooner than men did.
She knew the speed and skill of his blade, which had brought him notoriety throughout the harsh lands they traveled. That had never seemed to matter to him—but she knew what did. Ro Min, archer and bodyguard, and master spy for the Empire, was of better than average looks. Biao Mei was completely in her thrall. Lin Mei served the Empire for a variety of reasons, but Biao Mei served his heart. She hid her smile as her knight-errant brother trod silently by her side, hand near his sword hilt.
The main temple loomed up ahead. The Norbu Pema was the building next to it, small only by comparison. It occupied the space between the temple and the sheer rock wall.
They stopped under the eaves and looked around. The street was empty. Lin Mei took a small packet from her coat, and took out a pair of small bronze hooks. It took only a few moments to open the lock. They slipped inside and closed the door behind them. Some coals still glowed in a small sand-lined hearth in the center of the room. She used them to flame a sliver of kindling and used it to light a butter lamp.
She saw a mass of treasure, piled haphazardly about. As caravan guards they had seen valuable goods, but never before in such quantity. Piled to the rafters were stacked rolls of silk, gold and silver scroll rollers, ornaments, and bullion, and boxes of exotic hardwoods inset with jade, pearls, and coral. Wrapped bundles and leather sacks hinted at even greater treasures.
“What I would give to be in on the sacking of this place,” Biao Mei breathed. A sheepish look appeared on his face. “If it were not so holy,” he added.
“Your piety is reassuring,” she muttered. She searched the room, looking for any scrolls that might have belonged to Kalsang Rampa. She had learned to read some of the cursive writing used in the mountains but the labels on the scrolls were mostly in metaphors. Without a deeper understanding of the theology of the mountains they were meaningless. She mouthed a phrase totally inappropriate to the sanctity of the place and looked about. At a far wall the two cats were nosing about at the base of a screen. Puzzled she went over.