Patrick Woodhead - The Cloud Maker (2010)

‘Two to three years at least,’ Shara answered, carefully setting the cups down on the edge of the first step and looking out at the view. Luca moved closer, so that they were side by side. ‘Of course, it took me many more years to memorise it in the first place.’

Luca glanced down at the delicate china cups.

‘I think I’ve had enough of that stuff,’ he said.

‘This one is for me,’ Shara said, picking up one of the cups and taking a small sip. ‘The other will wait here for you, as is our custom, in case you ever decide to return.’

Luca looked up into her pale green eyes. They shone with a sadness he’d not seen before, and from the way her lips were pressed together, he could tell she was trying to hold back her emotions.

‘But the Abbot told me to leave. He doesn’t want me back.’

‘He told you to face up to your life. When you’ve done that, you’re free to go wherever you choose.’ She reached out and took one of his hands between both of hers. ‘But whatever happens, Luca, just remember that it was not your fault that Bill died.’

At the mention of his name, Luca turned his eyes away from hers. The enormity of it all crashed over him again, almost driving the air from his chest.

‘Goodbye, Shara,’ he whispered, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. His face remained pressed against hers for a moment longer, breathing in her delicate scent. Then he suddenly turned away, squaring his shoulders. He scooped his rucksack off the ground and started down the steps.

Shara remained at the head of the stairway, the breeze playing with the long strands of her hair. For a long while she watched his retreating figure, waiting for him to turn his head back towards the monastery. But he kept on walking, until his outline had gradually sunk back into the far mountains and the tea sitting beside her had long since gone cold.

Chapter 58

Rega staggered along the broken pathway, clutching on to Drang’s arm. The toes of his sandals caught on the loose stones, tripping him forward, while his spare arm reached out into thin air, fingers splayed wide.

Everything was so unfamiliar. There was no corridor to guide him, no indentations in the stone wall to show him the way. His whole world had been based on familiarity and memory, and now all that had gone.

The wind streamed across his face and Rega inhaled the cold air deep into his lungs. It smelled bitter and fresh, and he didn’t recognise a single part of it. In the monastery he had been able to tell every storeroom from the smell of its countless jars and vials. He could navigate the twists of the library just from the aroma of the dry parchments. Yet here, in the open vastness of the mountains, all that knowledge suddenly counted for nothing.

The wind blew harder, tugging at his cowl and billowing out his robes.

The moment he was banished from Geltang, the gates bolted shut behind him, Rega had felt a terrible sense of helplessness overcome him.

‘ We must reach the shelter of the lower valleys, ’ he said, trying to keep the fear from his voice.

He could feel Drang tugging at his sleeve. They were moving tortuously slowly down the path and he guessed his aide’s patience was fast running out. In the mountains, an old blind man could only slow him down.

‘ You have always been a loyal aide, ’ Rega said, briefly resting his other hand on Drang’s forearm. ‘ And you shall be rewarded for such service, I give you my word. ’

Drang only grunted, his good eye staring down the slope in front of him. Gauze bandages were wrapped tight across his face, and where the skin was visible it shone with a greasy extract used in the treatment of burns. Under the bandages, weeping patches of raw skin clung to the gauze.

‘ Most loyal, ’ Rega repeated, fear thick in his voice.

Drang grunted again, pressing him forward. Across the far line of mountain peaks he could see clouds rolling over the sky, blotting out the sun. The wind had already changed direction, bringing an icy cold from the higher slopes. A storm was brewing.

Rega stumbled on a rock lying in the centre of the pathway, his hands digging into Drang’s arm for support. He pulled himself upright, his breathing laboured, and quickly tried to gather himself to continue. Drang simply watched, his expression unchanged, as Rega staggered forward once more.

For another hour they continued before Drang pulled him to a halt.

‘ The ground is more dangerous ahead, Father, ’ he said. ‘ The path has run out. I need to go ahead and check the way down. ’

Rega nodded and very slowly uncurled his hands from Drang’s arm. He stood on his own, shifting his weight and reaching out his arms to balance himself. He heard Drang leave a bag at his feet, then the scuffing of his boots across the uneven ground just ahead and some loose pebbles tumbling away down the slope. After that, there was only the noise of the mounting wind.

For over two hours Rega stood where he was, in the vain hope of Drang returning. Even when he understood that his aide was never coming back, he remained in the same place for want of anywhere else to go. The wind whipped around him, sending ripples across the folds of his robes, but he did not reach down into the bag at his feet and put on one of the heavy jackets they’d been given.

Turning back in the direction they had come, Rega tilted his head up towards the distant walls of Geltang, his expression shadowed with remorse.

‘I’m so tired,’ he whispered. Then, sitting down on the hard ground, he lowered his head, letting the cold slowly claim him.

Chapter 59

3 November 2005

Jack Milton was discussing Phd potential with an undergraduate in his study when there was a knock at his door. It opened a fraction to reveal the left side of Luca’s face.

‘Jesus, Luca!’ he said, jumping up from behind his desk. ‘We’ll continue this later,’ he muttered to the student, waving him up from the armchair and out of the room.

As Luca stepped hesitantly into the office, Jack took him by the shoulders. As soon as he touched him, he could feel just how much weight Luca had lost. His grey eyes looked paler than normal and were ringed with fatigue. Despite his clean clothes, Lucasunburned face and matted hair made him look weathered and somehow uncivilised, a far cry from the pale academics who normally inhabited Jack’s study.

‘Why didn’t you call?’ he demanded. ‘We hadn’t heard from you in so long, we thought the worst had happened.’

He pulled his nephew forward, hugging him tight in his arms. Eventually, with a couple of awkward pats on his back, Jack stepped away and turned to the window. Behind his reading glasses, Luca could see his eyes were clouded with tears.

‘Next time you go on a trip, I’m giving you a bloody satellite phone,’ he said, busying himself by making some coffee. Pouring the dregs from the glass pot into the top of the coffee machine again, he packed in some new grounds from a well-thumbed packet and pressed the switch. Soon they were settled into the two armchairs, facing each other.

For over an hour Luca talked. In all that time Jack did not interrupt or ask questions, but sipped his coffee long after it had turned cold. A mixture of disbelief and horror spread across his face as his nephew related every step of the journey. When Luca explained what had happened to Bill, Jack reached up his hands to his face and covered his eyes. His shoulders shook from sobs and for a long time after that they both sat in silence. Eventually Luca got up from his chair and poured his uncle another coffee, resting his hand briefly on his shoulder as he passed him the cup.

When Luca had finished what remained of his story, he reached into his satchel to pull out two battered books, setting them down on the wide armrests of his chair.