we should. In the end, we both know it’s for the best that we don’t.”
She turned in her seat to look him in the eye. “Best for who? Who are you to decide?”
“I can ask you the same question. For centuries the Order has done nothing but watch as cataclysms destroyed nations, laid waste to entire regions, and killed millions. No one ever questioned our need to remain silent. Just because the scope is so much greater now doesn’t mean we should part with our traditions.”
“Luc, if we don’t do anything a hundred million people will die outright and many more later as civilization unravels.”
“This is where you and I disagree, dear sister. I don’t see that as a bad thing. Civilization as it is today is fundamentally flawed and can’t be sustained. Its demise is certain. Rampant consumption in the west and exploding populations in the developing world are either going to bleed the planet dry or collide in a monumental war that will destroy both. The eruption on La Palma is a pressure relief valve, a way to turn back the clock a century or two and give humanity a chance to learn from its mistakes rather than continue to build on them.
“This is the very nature of evolution — the adaptation to changing circumstances. Those that can do it will survive, those that can’t will perish. The planet doesn’t care which species resides at the top of the evolutionary ladder so long as it can endure the tests thrown at it. We’ve done well for so long that we forget we’re here only by the earth’s grace.”
Tisa couldn’t form a response. Far from growing blank, her mind was a swirl of images and thoughts, a torrent that crashed like a hurricane. In the months since she’d learned about the La Palma eruption, she’d strived to find a way to avert it, or at least reduce the impact. She’d remained confident that she could make a difference. That knowledge had given her the determination and courage to continue. Hearing her brother now, she understood how useless it had all been. For the first time she knew she was going to fail.
There was no escaping Rinpoche-La. Upon her return she’d seen that Luc had mobilized dozens of followers into a loose army. Like her brother, they all seemed to be carrying guns. Even if she could slip past the guards and make it out of the valley, she’d never survive the trek to Nepal. Darchen, the closest Tibetan town, was out of the question too. It was a backwater village with a heavy military presence. She’d be arrested the first time she tried to hitch a ride to Llasa.
Luc began to massage her shoulders. Tisa didn’t have the strength to shrug him off. “We’ll be safe here. When the time comes we will rejoin the world and take our rightful place. The oracle will guarantee our primacy.”
“I want to see the Lama,” she said, trying to keep from sobbing.
“Of course.” Luc stepped back to allow Tisa to stand. He smiled at her, a patronizing look that said he could see past her anger and not care about her pain. “Whatever you want is yours for the asking.”
He led her from the cell. In this wing of the lamasery, the hallways were wide and lined with rooms once used by some of the hundreds of monks who’d lived here. Precious prayer scrolls called
It took several minutes to cross to another set of stairs that descended below ground level. This passage was part of a dormant geothermal vent, and once at the bottom of the steps the passage took random twists and turns that had once been an ancient lava tube. After a hundred yards they came to a towering door. Luc unlocked it with a key kept on a long leather thong around his neck. He gave Tisa an appraising look.
She remained expressionless. Three months had passed since she’d last been here and taken the chronicle from the archive that lay beyond this door. Only the archivists, the most venerated members of the Order, had the key. Luc had not been among them then. Her brother must have been busy consolidating power within the Order. She feared what else had changed.
The archive chamber was dark until Luc turned on lights powered by a geothermal generator buried deeper under the monastery. The walls were draped with heavy, moisture-absorbing carpets to protect the priceless volumes. The rugs were replaced on a regular basis and the ones here appeared fresh and vibrant. The air was chilled, not damp exactly but clammy and claustrophobic. The chronicles were arranged along two walls in shelves that stretched from the floor to the ten-foot ceiling. There were several antique desks for the archivists and drawers filled with maps and manuscripts. This wasn’t where Admiral Zheng He’s cache was stored, although a few pieces were generally kept here for reference. The bulk of that horde was in another chamber Tisa had never seen.
When she’d taken the book she’d shown Mercer, she had tried to disguise the theft by spacing out the nearby journals. Luc, or one of his underlings, had reformed the tight ranks and the gap where the chronicle once stood was as obvious as a missing tooth. From the blank spot to the end of the last shelf were six more journals awaiting the time when the predictions in them could be verified.
Luc crossed the room and opened another locked door. Tisa’s unease increased. She hadn’t seen the Lama in almost a year. Even back then his health was failing and his mind had lost much of its keen edge. She dreaded that he’d died in her absence and her brother was leading her to his ossuary. That would explain how Luc had taken such complete control over the monastery and the Order.
They continued down the volcanic tube, their way lit by bulbs strung along the ceiling. Tisa suspected this was an alternate route to the oracle chamber, the subterranean cavern where centuries earlier devotees of Zhu Zhanji had constructed the oracle based on designs that dated from long before the scholar took possession of Admiral He’s historical treasures. The air in the tunnel turned warmer the farther they descended, fueled by the earth’s fiery heart.
At last they came to an open area that had been finished off with elegantly paneled walls and a carpet- strewn wood floor. The room was furnished with ornate sofas and chairs covered in watered silk. Glittering chandeliers hung from the coffered ceiling like crystal stalactites. The architectural details of the handcarved moldings were lost under heavy layers of gilt. Through an open doorway Tisa could see a bedroom dominated by a massive four-poster bed. It was only the lack of windows that betrayed the space as something other than a room fit for royalty. She’d never seen this part of the monastery and didn’t understand what it was. Luc indicated she should go into the bedroom.
The chamber was much dimmer, shadowed and ominous. There was a gamey odor in the air, like meat on the verge of rotting. Sensing a presence, she stilled her breathing. Someone was on the bed, hidden by darkness. Her heart began to hammer and her palms turned slick. As Tisa approached the bed, she couldn’t still her quivering lips. She knew whom she was about to see. The rasping breathing that first caught her attention stopped suddenly and the figure on the bed let loose with a crowlike caw.
Tisa’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a scream. She slowly made her way closer, angling across the room so light could reach the figure leaning against the headboard. Behind her Luc adjusted a light switch and the level of illumination grew. Tisa gasped.
The Lama no longer wore his ceremonial blue robe. He was naked, his thin chest rising feebly as he struggled to breathe. His body was hairless save the coarse gray nest at the juncture of his legs. The hair atop his head was as fine as silk thread. His face was more deeply wrinkled than any she had ever seen. The creases seemed to vanish into his skull. His mouth was a blackened, toothless hole, his limbs little more than desiccated sticks. He wasn’t yet seventy but appeared ninety. She discerned all this ruin in a glance, but what held her were his eyes. They were those of someone with severe retardation. They remained bright, but there was no curiosity behind them, nothing to indicate the creature peering through them even knew who or where he was.
Soft cords bound his left hand and ankle. The right side of his body was held rigid by some paralysis.
Tears burned Tisa’s eyes. She turned to her brother, unable to hide her pain and confusion.
“Two months ago,” Luc explained as if discussing the weather. “The doctors say it was a massive stroke. It would have been better had the old bugger died. I’ve actually thought about putting him out of his misery, but the others believe his condition is a portent and that the date of his death will have special meaning.”
Tisa reached out and brushed a wisp of hair back across the Lama’s forehead. He looked at her trustingly, but without recognition. Unable to keep her composure, a wracking sob tore into Tisa’s chest. The pain was like a lance.
“Ah, dinner’s here,” Luc said from the doorway, unmoved by his sister’s personal agony.
