Patrick Woodhead - The Cloud Maker (2010)

‘Help us,’ he breathed, his chest working up and down from the effort, making his collar bones stand out under his sunken skin. From the look on his face, it was all too obvious what he was saying. Zhu didn’t need a translation.

Zhu stared down at him, frozen by the physical contact. His eyes ran over the boy’s small hands, dirtied and grasping as they pulled on his fingers once again, touching the stretched skin on the tips where his nails had once been.

Wrenching his arm free, Zhu strode back into the harsh sunlight, his lips curled in revulsion. He frantically wiped his right hand on the side of his trousers, retreating from the child another pace.

‘Burn the village,’ he hissed, wiping his hand one last time and placing it deep in his trouser pocket. He looked across at Chen who stood bewildered by the front step of the house.

‘Burn it to the ground.’

Chapter 36

Luca opened his eyes to see the afternoon sun slanting through the open window. For a moment he lay flat on the narrow bunk, staring out vacantly across the small, bare room. Then he exhaled slowly and dragged himself to his feet. Every muscle in his body felt stretched and bruised and there was a dull thumping in his head.

Moving over to a porcelain bowl by the bed, he wet a small cloth and ran it over his face and hands. The palms of his hands were still stained black with dried blood. By the time he wrung out the cloth, the water had turned the colour of rust.

Last night’s ordeal was coming back to him in flashes now: Bill’s piercing scream by the cave, the burning sensation in his own arms and legs as he’d clambered after Shara. It had taken every ounce of his strength to get them to the monastery, and despite what he sensed must have been a long, deep sleep, he still felt weak and depleted.

Leaving the cloth by the basin, Luca stepped up to the window and took in the view. The monastery seemed just as unreal in the daylight. As he peered straight down from the ledge he saw that the building stretched away beneath him, level after level, to the mountain’s base. It looked to be at least two hundred metres high, as if two large cathedrals had been stacked one on top of the other.

On the horizon was a series of interlocking valleys. Each had layers of green terraced fields running round the side of the mountains in narrow bands, like the contours on a map. Luca could just make out the silhouettes of people, planting long rows of crops, their backs hunched as they worked the earth.

‘Geltang Monastery.’ Luca said the words out loud, as if they would make more sense that way. What was this place? A secret sect of monks, hidden away in the mountains? But if so, what were they all doing here, and how had Shara known about them in the first place?

A knock on the door made him swing round in surprise, causing his back to spasm. Reaching behind him to lean on the bed, he was still cursing softly as the door was unbolted from the outside.

From the shadows of the corridor, a monk appeared in the doorway.

‘ Tashi delek , Mr Matthews. I trust you have slept well?’

The man must have been somewhere between forty and fifty, but it was hard to tell given the perfectly smooth texture of his skin. His head was shaved in the traditional monastic style above gently upward-slanting eyes, and he wore the same cornflower blue robes as Luca had seen on the monks who had taken Bill away. The man extended a hand in greeting, his lips curving into a faint smile.

‘My name is Dorje,’ he said, his voice gentle and deliberate. ‘I am one of the few at Geltang who speak English, and have been instructed to be your guide.’

‘Hello,’ Luca said, offering his hand. Dorje shook it while studying Luca openly, his expression one of unhurried calm. Luca felt he should say something more to break the silence.

‘Your English is very good,’ he said finally.

‘Thank you, Mr Matthews,’ Dorje replied, his smile widening a little. ‘Now, if you would please follow me, Miss Shara would like to see you. On the way, perhaps I will have a chance to acquaint you with a little more of our humble monastery.’

With that he set off sedately down the corridor, hands clasped behind his back like a college professor. Luca followed and, despite his aching legs, had to measure his stride to stop himself from stepping on the hem of Dorje’s robe. They made their way down the tight corridor, passing flaming yak-butter lamps that had been lit in small alcoves cut into the stone walls.

‘Is there any news of Bill?’ Luca asked after a while, when it became obvious that Dorje’s guided tour was going to be conducted in silence.

‘Regrettably, it is too early to tell,’ Dorje answered, speaking over his shoulder. ‘Your companion was in very poor health when he arrived, but I understand that our physicians have been working on his legs all through the day.’

‘But he is going to be OK, isn’t he?’

‘We must wait, Mr Matthews. We cannot do more than that.’

‘Is he at least conscious?’ said Luca, his voice rising a little. ‘I’d really like to go and see how he’s doing.’

Dorje paused by a wooden staircase.

‘Perhaps Miss Shara will be able to give you more information. For my part, I have been told that your companion needs complete rest and that it is impossible for you to see him at this time.’

The way he spoke suggested the matter was gently, but firmly, closed. He continued walking again. After a second Luca shrugged and followed, staring down at the back of his shaved head. A few hundred yards further they passed a wider section of hallway where two young monks were standing, speaking in low whispers. As Luca and Dorje passed, both gave low, respectful bows, but their eyes studied every movement Luca made.

‘Can you tell me more about this place, Dorje? What is Geltang exactly?’

Dorje raised one arm, as if gesturing to the entire monastery.

‘Geltang is a place of preservation. It is a repository of culture, wisdom and enlightenment.’

Luca nodded, waiting for him to elaborate, but Dorje lapsed into silence again.

‘But why has it been built out here in the middle of nowhere?’

‘Indeed, I must congratulate you on completing a most arduous journey. It is no small matter to reach our walls. But I am quite certain your training as a mountaineer stood you in good stead.’

‘Yeah, it helped,’ said Luca impatiently. ‘But what about the monastery? Why’s it been built so far up in the mountains?’

Dorje smiled apologetically.

‘I’m afraid my English is not good enough to answer such questions adequately,’ he said. ‘Ah, but here we are already – the eastern balcony.’

They rounded a corner and the corridor opened up into a vast terraced area made of huge white marble flagstones and surrounded by gleaming walls. The only splashes of colour on the terrace came from an array of miniature trees and plants, similar to Japanese bonsai, which studded the walls in small, individual alcoves.

At the centre, a stone fountain poured water into a shallow receptacle below. The overflow of water then travelled through an open channel in the ground until it reached the balcony’s edge where it fell hundreds of feet down, past the foundations of the monastery and on to the cliffs below.

Spectacular as the balcony was, it was not designed to be introspective. As the water tumbled down like a moving sheet of glass, it drew the eye to the view above it.

Luca’s gaze was directed upwards, coming to a halt halfway up the perfect lines of a familiar mountain.

‘I don’t believe it,’ he said, forgetting the stiffness in his legs as he stepped eagerly forward. ‘It’s actually here.’

Framed by two larger peaks in the foreground, he could see the chiselled outline of the pyramid mountain. There could be no mistake – this was the same mountain he had seen all those weeks ago on Makalu. Despite the summit being concealed by a thick layer of cloud and the lower flanks lost to surrounding foothills, it still looked absolutely magnificent.