Jaunt (3 page)

“Where are we?”

“A lone path,” Shajda said, before viewing the trail ahead of them.

Now outside the crown of peaks, the team had ventured to a region completely foreign to de Lis’ cartograph. De Lis was certain that this was not a short cut. If anything, it was a reason to fire this guide and hire another.

The group walked on hesitantly, evidenced by de Lis’ repeated attempts to find this location on his holobook. In his frustration, he handed the device to Valagua, telling him to

“stow it.”

They wound through another dry riverbed, which soon descended a sharp twentyfive degrees. At the foot of the incline, Shajda took a simple, carved path, whose traffic pattern couldn’t have been more than perhaps one person per month, but used consistently over the centuries.

A rock face loomed ahead, beckoning them to its solid wall. Shajda walked further, giving pause to de Lis and the others, all of whom rightfully pondered where he was going; the path seemingly ended there. Sensing the group’s pause, he gestured them forward without a single turn of his head.

De Lis again acquiesced. Shajda waited for them to catch up, then started his trek once more. The path brushed against the foot of the mountain, curving round it as the trail started another ascent.

Tall pines and other indigenous trees formed a dark curtain around the path ahead, bringing to Gilmour a strange sense of awe. He had not noticed any of these trees in their long journey here, none especially within the confines of the mountainous crown mapped for them. Warm tingles pricked his nerves once the path had become one with the treeline. It was indeed a mysterious, if not intriguing, sensation to have.

Their very perception of time slowed as they traversed the spiral pathway up the mountain, so much so that not even de Lis felt compelled to complain about the tremendous waste of usable sunlight this journey was.

None of that was a concern now. A calm breeze overtook the five, washing away their desperation, pacifying the mission. Gilmour’s eyes met Mason’s, both realizing the effect the woods had on their mindset. Neither could remember quite why they had been rushed to this land. All was so...quiet.

The path opened into a clearing, spotted with small, decorative scrub grass. Beyond that, to the group’s astonishment, was a temple situated deep within the mountainside, shaded in darkness and ringed by strings of multicolored prayer flags. Shajda halted at the temple’s gate, allowing the five to drink in the beautiful mountain garden that had suddenly appeared, its spectral blooms and sweet scents surprisingly complimenting the flapping flags above and the wafting incense below. Ornamental wood carvings and metertall monoliths of various religious and mythological motifs were patterned and grafted onto the temple itself and spread throughout the angled grounds, lending a divine aura to the already rarefied atmosphere.

With trepidation, the two agents stepped up to the main gate. This was holy ground, and both felt uneasy—as Westerners—to even be setting foot on its soil. Waters and Valagua appeared equally uncertain, while de Lis was deeply entranced studying a particular wooden beam near him. Shajda patiently waited for whomever was expecting him. At least Gilmour hoped he was expected; with the lack of civilization in this region, they were bound for a long wait if Shajda was not.

Moments passed before a Buddhist monk, his head clean shaven and his body draped by the traditionally simple, but bright, robes of the monastery, crossed over to the group from a narrower path behind the temple. Shajda immediately spoke to the dark man in a mellifluous tongue. The monk nodded his head enthusiastically, heartening the two agents, and most likely de Lis, also.

Maybe this Sherpa wasn’t such a bad guide after all. If these monks had any clues to the origins of the crash and its contents, including the bizarre stone Mason had discovered, then that was one advantage the group had over the Confederation. And seeing as how Shajda was on such good terms with the monastery....

Shajda beckoned the group forward with his good, toothless grin, raising de Lis’ grey eyebrows. He quickly took up the guide’s offer—also realizing the monks’ potential value—

and followed the two men into the interior of the monastery. Waters, Valagua, Mason and Gilmour hustled themselves to catch up with the invigorated doctor’s high steps. The monk rested his arms on the temple’s large wooden doors, and with a small push, introduced the foreigners into his sanctum. They were received by a brisk, dark corridor lined with prodigious candles billowing a hypnotic wave in the new breeze. Each member of the group stared incredulously at the Spartan quarters that these monks inhabited, marveling at their modest, yet majestic, domicile.

Gilmour noted silently how awed the three scientists he accompanied had become. Yes, they could appreciate a culture as serene and orderly as this one; science was a curious and intuitive study. However, he was discovering that their fascination with the temple was not purely about knowledge...but faith.

The monk picked up a lit candle and made his way to a closed door at the side of the corridor, stopping at its threshold. Speaking his strange tongue again to Shajda, he cracked the door, giving them his permission to enter. His business finished, he gave a nod to each team member as they approached, before finally taking his leave.

Shajda’s hand peeked through the crack, admitting himself and the other five. Inside sat an elderly abbot hunched over a wooden desk, meticulously inscribing script into a small, antique paper book and immersed in a haze of candle and incense smoke. Decades of India ink splashes had stained his fingers black, but he didn’t appear to mind as he skillfully manipulated a stylus between them. Surrounded by hundreds of relics, books and a small Buddha behind him, the abbot seemed small in comparison, but Gilmour felt a vibrancy from him that he could only describe as larger than most lives. Seeing that he had guests, the abbot rose from his seat, placed two fingers to his mouth to stifle a yawn, and greeted Shajda. The Sherpa returned the welcome with his palms together, bowing in deference. The abbot nodded to the team, also welcoming them to his quarters.

Shajda spoke to him, gesturing excitedly with his hands. Their dialogue continued for several moments, as it appeared that Shajda was informing the abbot of the team’s entire journey here. Mason wondered if Shajda had mentioned de Lis’ impatience with their Sherpa guide, but thought better of it. Besides, Mason figured the guide was probably oblivious to these odd Westerners’ habits and eccentricities, anyway, so why bring it up?

The abbot nodded and crossed over to a cabinet set to the side of his quarters. He gingerly removed a wooden chest and placed it on his desktop. Unlocking it, the abbot produced a folded, dark mahogany cloth, embroidered in yellow thread and encrusted with dozens of stones or jewels that gleamed warmly in the candlelight. Mason and Gilmour instantly recognized the ornamentation: Mason’s stone.

Swallowing their surprise, the agents watched the abbot hand the cloth to de Lis, who shared it with Waters. The pair spoke in enthusiastic whispers, careful to not only handle the cloth with a delicate touch, but their voices as well.

Shajda nodded and pointed to the cloth’s ornamentation. “He wait for you.”

De Lis furrowed his eyebrow. “What?”

The Sherpa smiled. “He knew you come...some day.”

Behind the guide, the abbot also grinned, as if knowing the punch line to a joke in a foreign language the Westerners couldn’t comprehend.

“A gift...for you,” Shajda said, his eyes finding the jewels on the cloth. Waters turned to de Lis. “I think he means, the monk has been expecting us.”

“Expecting?” de Lis asked. “But we just discovered....” The journey here, the monastery, Shajda’s deviation from the crater...was it all planned? But Buhranda said nothing about...unless he didn’t know. None of it made any sense.

“But perhaps they’ve known all along,” Valagua said. “This is a heavily guarded region, Doctor. Not many foreigners travel here. We are the first to look exclusively for this crash site, and the monks realized that too.”

De Lis, holding the cloth up so that jewels sparkled in the pale candlelight, returned his attention to Shajda. “What is this?”

“A gift....” His eyes rolled towards the ceiling of the quarters. “The eternal candles.”

Valagua gingerly handled the cloth as he received it from de Lis. “I’m not an expert on Nepalese religious culture, Richard, but I’d say it’s similar to twentieth century contemporary robes.” He unfolded it, recovering more of the mahogany weave. “Not much changes here over the centuries.”

“Just who rules them,” Mason said from behind.

Valagua agreed. He refolded the robe and tried to hand back to the abbot, but the old man refused, simply pushing it back into Valagua’s hands.

“It’s a gift, Javier,” Waters said.

“Stacia, can your field equipment run a test on it?” de Lis asked, oblivious to Valagua’s attempted return.

Her eyes scanned its exotic adornment. “I could, but I’d prefer the mobile lab. I don’t recognize these jewels encrusting it to be native to this region. I could be wrong...I’d have to double-check our geology files for a definitive answer.”

De Lis nodded. “All right. We’ll do that after we return. For now, stow it for the trip to the crater.” His eyes turned sharply to Shajda. “Which, I presume, we are headed to now?” he said, more of a command than a question.

Shajda nodded his head happily. “No...more!” The Sherpa faced the abbot. De Lis’ eyes widened.
Another gift?

The abbot obliged, closing the chest. He returned it to the cabinet and retrieved a metallic lock box, setting it also on the desktop. The lid opened with a clack as he reached his hand deeply into the box and shuffled it among the unseen contents. His hand returned seconds later with a yellowed document, which he then gave to de Lis. De Lis sneezed from the dust showered about the room. After wiping his nose, he unfolded a large, green and blue sheet of paper, revealing a series of graph lines littered with abbreviated graphite handwriting.

Valagua took immediate interest in the relic, nearly ripping it from the doctor’s hands. “It’s a military topo map...of Nepal.” His eyes and fingers darted around the map’s periphery. An index finger ran a straight line over a piece of small text. “United States...”

he recited, “War Department. It’s from the Second World War.”

“Where did they get this?” de Lis asked Shajda.

The abbot spoke quietly, nearly imperceptibly, in his native speech. Shajda bobbed his head while listening to the abbot give his testimony. The Sherpa turned away from the old man, translating the passage in his head before saying, “Long...uhm...many centuries past. Military men...Westerners bring it here.”

The abbot gestured excitedly with his hands, flaring them about his head.

“Military men...very scared—yes!” Shajda reiterated.

“No, that’s not possible,” Waters said. “This site, this crash, wasn’t discovered until three days ago. Nobody knew it was here! Certainly not the military.”

The abbot grinned coyly once more. Another set of papers, this time a small spiral notebook, was thrust into de Lis’ hand.

De Lis nearly tore the tattered remains apart as his fingers turned it about.

“Careful!” Valagua cautioned before reaching for the notebook.

De Lis lightened his hold of it, relaxing Valagua. He then flipped through the old, penciled journal, reading the quick scrawls. “What happened to these men?”

Shajda turned to the abbot, who jutted his lips in a doubt.

De Lis frowned. It was bad enough they were belatedly informed of eyewitnesses, but it was worse that no trace of their whereabouts were to be remembered at all. The best clues to the crash’s origins would lie with them. But, perhaps without meaning to, the abbot had provided them with a better record of the crash than a two-century-old tale. They would need to pore over this notebook, however, and any other treasures the old abbot could dig out of that lock box of his.

“Shajda,” de Lis asked, pointing his hand to the lock box, “ask him if he will give us the other papers in there.”

Shajda started to translate, but the abbot handed de Lis the rest of the stash. De Lis quickly bowed, showing his appreciation. “Thank—thank you. You have been too kind.”

The abbot bowed as well, his fingers steepled.

Valagua gently guided the ancient papers into a sample bag.

“Shajda...the site?” de Lis asked once more.

The Sherpa nodded; his work was now nearly complete.

With the group shown the monastery’s door a short while later, de Lis wasted no time following Shajda down the path; their diversion had already cost them two hours of precious sunlight. Just past the garden, however, Waters took several digigraphs with a holo-imager and lidar readings using laser pulses to document the monastery’s precise topographical coordinates; besides, no one back at the lab would believe them if she didn’t employ every means to authenticate the monastery.

Some time later Shajda led the team back to the mountain fissure. Before allowing his team to pass back through the narrow way, de Lis had the team cover their exposed flesh. De Lis then consolidated the rucksacks and gave them to Shajda to carry, which allowed them the optimal amount of crawl space, lessening any chance for new injuries. They all crossed through the passage with less difficulty, emerging in two-thirds the time. Each member reclaimed their gear from the waiting Shajda, then rested a moment to focus on the upcoming trail.

De Lis pushed the team forward again, paying particular attention to his creeping chronometer, which was not the team’s friend. Meticulously tracing their journey with his holobook, he marked their every step, correlating Waters’ lidar data into a holographic cartograph, which produced an extended view of the region. If indeed they did have to return to the monastery for any reason, he’d make sure that Shajda was not along for the trip.