Patrick Woodhead - The Cloud Maker (2010)

‘It’s unbelievable.’

‘Indeed,’ Dorje replied softly.

Both men stood gazing at the view. As Luca’s eyes traced the sides of the mountain he imagined himself up there, slowly picking a route along the cracks in the rock, gradually working higher until he reached the very top.

‘Always cloud,’ he muttered to himself before swinging round to face Dorje. ‘I looked at so many satellite maps, trying to catch a glimpse of it, but the whole mountain was always covered by cloud.’

‘That is its nature,’ agreed Dorje. ‘Like us, it prefers to remain hidden from the world.’

Luca nodded, turning back to the view. ‘Has anyone climbed it?’

Dorje shrugged. ‘While collecting herbs or performing similar errands, members of our order have certainly walked across its foothills.’

‘And the summit? Has anyone been to the summit?’

Dorje sighed quietly.

‘No one has been there. I am afraid we do not share your Western predilection for “conquering” such wondrous feats of nature.’

‘Does it even have a name?’

‘Name? No. No, Mr Matthews,’ Dorje continued, his nose wrinkling a little, as if he had just noticed an unpleasant smell. ‘Our mountain does not have a name. Just as climbing it would be an act of quantifying it, or, to put it another way, of being able to measure oneself against it, we believe naming it would have a similar effect. It is enough for us that it is simply there.’

Luca nodded distractedly. He drew his gaze away from the mountain and over the intervening valleys to where they stood. Now that he was here, he could see how similar the landscape was to that shown on the thangka Jack had given him. He thought back to the professor at Cambridge too and the comments she had made about the ‘mountain beyul ’. Dorje had said Geltang was a repository of enlightenment . . .

There had to be some kind of a connection.

Turning away from the mountain, Luca glanced over at Dorje.

‘Is there a relationship between the mountain and the monastery?’ he asked.

Dorje looked startled for an instant, then his expression assumed its habitual calm.

‘Mr Matthews, I am just a lowly monk here at Geltang and nothing more than a humble translator. I think it best you talk to someone else more qualified to discuss such matters. But what I can tell you is that the mountain creates moisture. Its sheer presence generates clouds and precipitation, which in turn feed the crops you see in the fields below our monastery. We grow all that is consumed here and it is the mountain that enables our existence. Rare indeed for a place as inhospitable as the Himalayas.’

‘I wasn’t meaning the crops so much . . . more the religious significance. You said Geltang was a repository, right? Well . . .’

Luca’s voice trailed off as Dorje turned away from him towards the entrance to the balcony.

‘Ah,’ he said, his expression clearing with relief. ‘Miss Shara has arrived.’

Despite his growing frustration, Luca felt his pulse quicken as he turned to see Shara crossing the balcony towards them. She had changed from her climbing clothes and now wore blue monastic robes similar to Dorje’s.

With uncharacteristic haste, Dorje moved off to greet her, walking round the side of the fountain and bowing low. As Luca watched, he clasped her hand in his and whispered something with an expression of utmost solemnity. After a moment Shara nodded and with a brief smile, came over to greet Luca, leaving Dorje by the fountain.

‘It’s good to see you,’ Luca said, realising how much he meant it. He went to take her hand but Shara hesitated, pulling back from him and crossing her hands in front of her. There was a sudden air of formality about her that made Luca’s smile quickly fade.

‘Is everything OK?’ he asked.

‘How is your head?’ she said, ignoring the question and studying his forehead where a cut ran back into his hairline.

‘Got a hell of a hangover, but I’ll be OK. More importantly, have you heard any more about Bill?’

‘He’s regained consciousness, but is still very weak. Now we have to wait to see how he copes with the secondary infections.’

Luca stared into her eyes. There was a distance there he had never seen in them before. Even when she had been angry with them in the village, she had at least been directing all her attention on them. Now there was a cool detachment in her manner that seemed so out of place given all they had been through together.

‘But he is going to recover,’ Luca persisted, dragging his mind back to Bill. ‘We made it here in time, didn’t we?’

‘I don’t know, Luca. We’re just going to have to wait and see what happens.’

There was silence as her words sank in. Luca shut his eyes, thinking back to what had happened that night in the cave. The thoughts and images were still confused: the terrible silence, the fumbling in the dark, and then, right behind them, that almighty roar. He could remember the feeling of Shara’s soft skin as she had pressed her face against his, whispering that a bear was in the cave.

Luca halted, mid-thought, and rewound the images in his mind. There was something about this that wasn’t making sense.

‘When you woke me in the cave, you were already dressed,’ he said, slowly piecing it together. ‘You were getting ready to leave, weren’t you? You must have been planning to ditch us and head to Geltang on your own.’

Shara began to shake her head. ‘Luca . . .’

He glanced across to where Dorje was slowly inspecting the line of plants set into marble alcoves. He looked entirely absorbed in what he was doing, but was easily close enough to hear their conversation. Luca refocused on Shara’s face as if for the first time and lowered his voice. ‘Bill was right about you. You were hiding something all along.’

Shara sighed and stared down at her hands. When she looked up again, the detachment was gone and her face suddenly showed lines of anxiety and fatigue.

‘What I told you was mostly true. The guide due to take me here had fallen sick and I needed your help to get above the rock-face. After that, you’re right, I was going to head off alone into the Kooms and come all the way to Geltang. I didn’t want to lie to you, Luca, but there is so much more to this than you realise.’

‘So why were you coming here in the first place? I mean, what’s a woman doing here amongst a load of monks?’

Shara paused, pushing back a strand of hair from her face.

‘I was granted exceptional permission to come to Geltang because I was replacing my brother and delivering something.’

‘Your brother? What’s he got to do with all this? What was he delivering?’

‘I can’t tell you that. But please, Luca, don’t ask any more questions. It’s not . . .’ she paused again, choosing her words carefully ‘. . . it’s not wise for you to ask too many questions.’

‘Come on, Shara. We went through hell up there and now you’re telling me not to ask questions!’

‘Keep your voice down,’ she hissed, casting an eye towards Dorje. She leaned closer. ‘Look, it doesn’t matter what I was delivering, but please, just do exactly as Dorje says. I beg you.’

Luca looked at her, bewildered by the obvious sincerity in her eyes. Why was she so reluctant to answer any of his questions? They were already at the monastery. Surely the secret was out?

‘Geltang is one of the hidden beyuls , isn’t it?’ he said suddenly. ‘That’s what you’re trying to protect.’

Shara’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Where did you hear that word?’

‘That’s what this place is, isn’t it? It’s one of those sanctuaries?’

‘Don’t talk about things you don’t understand. Never mention that word again.’