Path of the Eclipse

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “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 ou
r 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.

  Four days later when the party once again set out to the southeast, it consisted of fifteen men, twenty-eight ponies and six yaks. They went slowly, rarely covering more than thirty li a day, and on days when the wind sliced off the snow at them, less than twenty.

  At night the party made camp and mounted guards against robbers, though few such bands were so intrepid as to haunt these ice-bound crags. Saint-Germain won himself a degree of acceptance from the rest by volunteering to stand guard in the latter half of the night.

  Near the crest of the range they were surprised by a storm and spent four days huddled in a pilgrims’ house attached to a small lamasery of the Red Robes Order. When the worst had passed they dug themselves out and continued on over the shoulder of the mountains whose crests were lost in the mist and clouds.

  It was more than a month after their journey began that the party at last started to descend. The slopes now, while formidable and clad in permanent snow, were less imposing than the peaks behind them. Now the way turned, winding westward. Rock and ice now grudgingly yielded patches of sheltered footing to scrubby trees. Finally, fifty-three days from Lhasa, they came across their first roadside shrine. The guides exclaimed over this, telling the members of the party that it was dedicated to the spirits of the snows, and admonished them to come no farther down the mountain.

  A day later they passed a goat boy with his flock, who waved and called out in a strange language which baffled the guides as well as the rest of the party. Gradually flowers appeared on the slopes, a few sparse buds at first, then larger, more luxuriant blossoms. The way was marked by low-growing shrubs, and in the protective crannies and clefts of the stone face of the mountains, trees grew. Now the fur cloaks were necessary only at night, for the days were cool but mild and the wind that blew from the valleys below them was warm, green-smelling, promising a fertile, drowsy summer.

  When they reached the second village, the yaks left the train to return with strange-garbed traders to the Land of Snows; these great beasts did not thrive in lower altitudes and heat. The foreigners were glad for the animals, for they had a great deal of goods to carry to Lhasa before the onset of autumn. The guides haggled a reasonable price, and in the morning when the train pushed on, the great long-haired oxen were left behind.

  Six days later, nine of the lamas left the train for a Buddhist monastery set back in a deep gorge. The lamas were eager to expand their studies and had promised to peruse the texts kept at that fabled monastery so that they could carry the teachings back to the Yellow Hats four or five years in the future, when the texts had been read and understood. With them went thirteen of the ponies and one of the guides.

  Now there were taverns and inns to welcome the travelers and provide them with food and drink as well as the shelter of a roof. Villages mushroomed on the hillsides, squalid, dusty and noisy, a pleasure to see after the frozen majesty of the mountains. Here there were many more men on the road in a wonderful diversity of garments. Often the guides would stop to talk with those coming from the west, and exchanged news with them. More and more were seen the shoulder-slung triple strands that marked members of the Brahmin caste, as well as the distressing wretches known as Untouchables.

  “Tomorrow,” the chief guide told Saint-Germain a few days later as they stopped for the night at a good-sized inn near a famous market town, “we must leave you, for our commission now takes us to the south, which is not the way you have elected to go. You will not continue with us, since you have said you desire to press westward back toward your homeland.” He could not entirely conceal the relief he felt at this. “If you require another guide, I will do what I can to be certain you have an honest one.”

  Saint-Germain, recalling Tzoa Lem, shook his head. “If my servant and I travel the much-used roads, we should have no trouble going north and west.”

  “Let it be as you wish,” the chief guide said, acknowledging this with a graceful gesture.

  “I am in your debt for your service,” Saint-Germain went on smoothly. “I realize that you were not entirely pleased to have me travel with you.”

  “You are…” The chief guide glanced off toward the spires of the mountains. “You are not like us. We were told by the Yellow Hats that you have great magical powers.”

  “And you dislike magicians?” Saint-Germain suggested, unable to keep the sadness out of his voice.

  “It is not that, precisely,” the chief guide said, still unable to meet the foreigner’s eyes. “You did not eat with us.”

  “That is the way of my kind,” was the gentle reminder.

  “And you brought no food,” the chief guide added, making it almost an accusation.

  “True enough, but my servant hunted. Once or twice he brought fresh meat to you.” He permitted himself to give the man a thin smile, enough to make it seem that the guide was acting foolishly.

  Apparently the strategy succeeded, for the chief guide rose and gave Saint-Germain a formal bow. “It is unfortunate that our paths diverge here,” he said with dignity.

  Saint-Germain returned the bow. “You did well. In gratitude I have left a token for you.” The token, he thought, would more than satisfy the guide, as it was a topaz, the size of his thumb. “Do me the honor of accepting it for the service you have rendered me.”

  The chief guide nodded once, then started away from the table. Then he paused and turned back. “Revered One,” he said somewhat shamefacedly, “you are not familiar with this place, and there are those on the roads who profess themselves to be willing companions upon the road, but who are there to make sacrifice.”

  “Indeed?” Saint-Germain raised his brows, recalling such an encounter many, many years before. “You wish to warn me of the Thuggi?”

  “You know of them?” the chief guide asked with a curious mixture of relief and disquiet in his voice.

  “Something of them, yes.” He folded his hands on the rough table. “Do you seek to warn me that they are active again?”

  “Yes.” The chief guide moved a little closer to the table. “The trader I spoke with yesterday on the road told me that to the west there have been many incidents of travelers garroted. It is because of the invaders from the West, they say, those who are part of the Delhi Califate. The ones who worship the true gods wish to avenge t
he insults done to their holy ones, and so the sacrifices increase.”

  “And the nearer to the Delhi Califate one comes, I suppose the greater the danger?” Saint-Germain gave an enigmatic smile. “Well, I thank you for your concern and the warning. My servant and I will take great care, I assure you. Again, I have you to thank for guiding me to safety.”

  The chief guide still hesitated. “You will go where, Revered One?”

  “Eventually, I will go to Shiraz in Persia, and from there I will make my way to Damascus, and from there I will go into my homeland.” His expression for one instant was remote.

  “There are rumors that Persia is at war,” the chief guide warned him.

  “I will be on my guard.” He rose, indicating that he no longer wished to discuss the various dangers of travel. “I fear, chief guide, that you are seeking to persuade me that traveling with you would be the safer course.”

  There was a kind of horror in the man’s eyes. “No. No, that is not my object.” He recovered quickly and made a self-deprecatory gesture. “It is simply that one who is a teacher of the Yellow Hats and a great magician cannot simply be abandoned in an unknown country.”

  “Not quite unknown,” Saint-Germain promised him. “I have been in these lands before.” It had been a long time, though, and Saint-Germain could not entirely free himself from apprehension.

  “You will know to be on guard then.” The flicker of relief was in the chief guide’s eyes again, and he stepped back, eager to be gone now that he had discharged his obligation to the foreigner. “There will be four ponies to carry you, and the innkeeper will provide you with … whatever supplies you might need.” He turned quickly then, glad to be gone from the perplexing stranger who had earned the respect of the Yellow Hats.