James Becker - The Messiah Secret

Bronson stepped towards her and hugged her. ‘Did I ever tell you how amazing you are?’ he said.

Angela grinned. ‘We’re not there yet,’ she said, pushing him back. ‘And this “silent” area is pretty large. It could cover quite a big part of this side of the valley.’ She pointed towards the valley wall to the west. ‘It’s most likely that cliff which diverts the wind. It’s probably just blowing right over our heads.’

‘But we must be close,’ Bronson said. ‘Come on — let’s keep searching.’

They moved on, further up the valley floor, checking all around them as they went, looking for anything that could possibly match the last half of the penultimate line of the text that had brought them halfway around the world — “the darkness formed of man” — anything, in short, fabricated by human beings rather than a product of nature.

Bronson saw it first. In a small plateau just off to their left he caught a glimpse of a small square structure. He stopped dead.

‘That can’t be it,’ Angela said firmly. To their left was a small, cubical building. The stones that made up its structure were the same texture and colour as the surrounding rocks, which was why neither of them had noticed it before. But now they could see it, they also saw the single oblong opening in its front wall — a doorway without a door.

‘What?’

‘I need to explain something about Lamaist monasteries,’ she said, sitting down in front of it. ‘Most of them, and certainly all the larger ones, actually consist of two buildings or groups of buildings, in two different places. There’s the main structure, like Diskit Gompa that we saw down below, where the two rivers meet, and a second, much smaller building. This is usually quite some distance — maybe three or four miles — from the monastery proper, and usually at a higher altitude. It’s like a simple cell, with almost no facilities, and it just provides shelter and a place to sleep.

‘Before a monk can become a lama, he is required to spend quite a long period of time in a building like this. He’s supposed to meditate in the solitude, completely undisturbed. The monastery provides him with basic food and drink, which is delivered once a day, so that the monk doesn’t have to disturb his meditations by preparing meals. It’s a bit like the forty days and nights of solitude Christ is supposed to have spent in the desert in Judea after being baptized. And I’m pretty certain that what we’re looking at here is the separate house of meditation that belonged to the Namdis Gompa monastery.’

‘Oh, shit,’ Bronson muttered. ‘But it fits the text so well. It’s in this weird area of silence, and it’s clearly man-made, not to mention dark inside.’

‘I agree. It was probably built here precisely because this particular spot is inside this sort of cone of silence, so the constant noise of the wind also wouldn’t disturb the meditation of the monks. But you’ve got exactly the same problem with the dates, Chris — they just don’t work. We can take a look inside it, by all means, but it was definitely constructed far too late to be what we’re looking for.’

They walked across to the small building and peered into it, but it was empty, just four bare stone walls. There was a tiny cubicle in one corner that had possibly functioned as an earth closet, and a flat stone bench that was presumably intended to be a bed. But apart from that, there was nothing else.

‘So what now?’ Bronson asked, sitting down beside Angela on the bench.

Angela sighed. ‘I still don’t think we should be looking for a building, because it just wouldn’t be still standing now, not after all this time. I was hoping we’d find a cave, something like that.’

Bronson stiffened. ‘I passed one a few minutes ago,’ he said.

‘Where? Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘You’d just waved me over,’ Bronson said mildly, getting up and pulling her to her feet, ‘and I thought you’d found something right here.’ He pointed out to the east, back the way he’d come. ‘Let’s go and see what I found, shall we?’

Two minutes later Bronson led the way in through what actually appeared to be little more than a crack in the rock. But inside, the cave widened out considerably.

‘It’s a lot bigger than it looks,’ Angela said, staring around her in the light from Bronson’s torch.

‘But no sign of anything that you could interpret as “the darkness formed of man”,’ Bronson pointed out, shining his torch around the interior of the empty space.

Facing them was a flat rock wall, boulders and lumps of wood resting against it in a tumbled heap. To the right of the rock wall a short tunnel the height of the cave opened up, but terminated in another solid wall of stone after perhaps ten or twelve feet. To the left, there was an even shorter tunnel, just three or four feet deep.

‘No,’ Angela said sadly. ‘To me, this just looks like a cave.’

She turned to leave, but Bronson reached out and grabbed her arm to stop her.

‘Doesn’t anything strike you as odd about this place?’

Angela shook her head. ‘No. It’s just a cave, a hole in the rock.’

‘But we know that somebody’s been in here.’

‘How can you tell?’

Bronson pointed at the wall opposite. ‘What do you see over there?’ he asked.

‘Rocks and bits of wood. Why?’

‘Exactly. The only way wood can get into a cave is if some person or animal carries it in. Which means that somebody else has been in here too. The question is, when were they here? And what could they have been doing?’

Bronson strode over to the wall and looked down at the debris. ‘Some of these look to me like worked timbers,’ he said.

He knelt down and started rooting about. Then he picked up a lump of wood, but it crumbled away almost to nothing in his hands.

‘These bits of timber must have been in here a long time,’ he said slowly, shaking the dust and slivers of wood off his hands. He bent forward and examined the remaining lumps of timber more closely. ‘I think this could be a part of a wheel,’ he muttered. ‘It looks like the rim of a solid wooden wheel. The edge of it is definitely rounded.’ He stepped back and looked down again. ‘You know, this could possibly be the remains of a cart, something like that.’

‘Makes sense,’ Angela said dejectedly. ‘When the monks from the Namdis Gompa monastery built that house of meditation we’ve just been in, they’d have had to haul worked stone up here to do it, and they would have needed some sort of cart. When they’d finished it, they probably just stored it here rather than dragging it back down the mountain again.

‘They could have worked the stone up here,’ Bronson suggested. ‘It would have been easier than shaping it down in the valley and then hauling it all the way up here from the monastery.’

‘Maybe. .’ Angela said, clearly still unconvinced.

Bronson took another look at the lumps of wood lying on the floor, then turned back towards the entrance. Then he stopped suddenly.

‘Just come over here, will you?’ he said quietly.

Angela stepped across to where he was standing. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

Bronson didn’t reply, just pointed upwards.

‘What?’ Angela asked again.

‘There, in the roof. See those two parallel lines? There’s no way those are natural. Somebody cut those out of the stone with a hammer and chisel.’

On the right-hand side of the rock wall, the cave extended a short distance back into the mountainside, into a short, blind-ended tunnel. What Bronson was pointing at were two straight lines that extended from the side of the vertical rock wall over to their right, a distance of about five or six feet.