Just as the helicopter was emerging from the funnel and he was whooping with triumph, he felt a powerful vibration shake the craft. It began to whirl faster and faster, as if it were in a blender, and he realized he couldn’t control it. Added to the deafening sound of the engine and blades was the roar of the wind. He tried to be rational, calling on his steel nerves and store of experience, but nothing he tried worked. The helicopter continued to spin crazily, and a violent crack! warned Armadillo that the rotor had snapped. He stayed airborne several more minutes, held by the force of the wind, until suddenly it veered. For an instant there was silence, and Tex Armadillo had the fleeting hope that he still could steer, but immediately the ’copter began to drop.
Later Alexander wondered whether the man had been aware of what was happening, or whether death took him in a flash, without warning. From where he stood, Alex couldn’t see where the helicopter fell, but they all heard the violent explosion, followed by a heavy black cloud of smoke billowing toward the sky.
Tensing found the king lying on the ground with his head in the lap of his son Dil Bahadur, who was stroking his hair. The prince hadn’t seen his father since he was a boy of six, the age when he was taken from his bed one night to be deposited in Tensing’s arms, but he recognized him because he had held his father’s image in his memory all those years.
“Father, father . . .” he murmured, helpless at the sight of the man whose life was draining away before his eyes.
“Majesty, it is I, Tensing,” said the lama, in turn leaning over the sovereign.
The king opened his eyes, glazed with death agony. As he focused, he saw a handsome young man who closely resembled his dead wife. He motioned him to bend closer.
“Hear me, my son, I must tell you something,” he murmured.
Tensing moved away, to give them a moment of privacy.
“Go immediately to the Chamber of the Golden Dragon in the palace.” The monarch spoke with difficulty.
“But, father, the statue has been stolen,” the prince replied.
“Nevertheless . . . go!”
“How can I do that if you do not come with me?”
From the most ancient times, the king had always accompanied the heir on his first visit, to instruct him on how to avoid the lethal traps that protected the Sacred Passageway. That first experience of father and son before the Golden Dragon was a rite of initiation and marked the end of one reign and the beginning of another.
“You must do it alone,” ordered the king and closed his eyes.
Tensing approached his disciple and put one hand on his shoulder.
“Perhaps you should obey your father, Dil Bahadur,” said the lama.
At that moment Alexander came into the room, supporting Nadia, who was still weak-kneed, by one arm; also with them was the Nepalese pilot who had not yet recovered from the loss of his helicopter and the string of surprises he’d encountered on this mission. Nadia and the pilot stayed at a prudent distance, not wanting to interfere in the drama that was being played out between the king and his son. Alexander, meanwhile, stooped down to examine the contents of Judit’s handbag, which still lay scattered on the ground.
“You must go to the Chamber of the Golden Dragon, son,” the king repeated.
“May my honorable master Tensing come with me? My training is only theoretical. I do not know the palace or the traps. Death awaits me beyond the Magnificent Door,” the prince declared.
“It will not be of help for me to go, Dil Bahadur,” the lama replied sadly. “I do not know the way either. Now my place is here, with the king.”
“Can you save my father, honorable master?” Dil Bahadur pleaded.
“I will do everything I can.”
Alexander went to Dil Bahadur and handed him a small object that the prince did not recognize or know the use of. “This will help you know what to do in the Sacred Passageway,” he said. “It’s a GPS.”
“A what?” asked the prince, confused.
“Let’s say it’s an electronic map that will help you orient yourself inside the palace. You can find the Chamber of the Golden Dragon the way Armadillo and his men did when they stole the statue,” his friend explained.
“How was that?” asked Dil Bahadur.
“I imagine that someone recorded the secrets,” Alex explained.
“That’s impossible. No one except my father has access to that part of the palace. No other person can open the Magnificent Door or avoid the traps.”
“Armadillo did both, and he must have used this system. Judit Kinski and he were partners. Maybe your father showed her the way,” Alexander insisted.
“The medallion!” cried Nadia, who had witnessed the scene between the Specialist and Tex Armadillo before her friends came into the room. “Armadillo said something about a camera hidden in the king’s medallion!”
Nadia apologized for what she was going to do, then, with the greatest care, she felt along the prostrate body of the monarch until she found the royal medallion, which had lodged between the king’s neck and his jacket. She asked the prince to help her remove it, but he was reluctant: the medallion represented royal power and it would be disrespectful for him to take it from his father. The urgency in Nadia’s voice, however, forced him to act.
Alexander carried the jewel to the light and quickly examined it. He immediately discovered the miniature camera hidden among the coral insets. He showed it to Dil Bahadur and the others.
“Judit Kinski undoubtedly put it there. This camera, no bigger than a pea, filmed the king’s movements through the Sacred Passageway. That’s how Armadillo and the Blue Warriors were able to follow him. Every step he took was recorded on the GPS.”
“Why did she do that?” asked the horrified prince; in his mind there was no concept of betrayal or greed.
“I suppose she wanted the statue, which is extremely valuable,” ventured Alexander.
“Did you hear the explosion? The helicopter crashed and the statue was destroyed,” said the pilot.
“Perhaps it is better so,” sighed the king, without opening his eyes.
“With the greatest humility, please permit me to suggest that the two young foreigners accompany the prince to the palace,” said Tensing. “Alexander-Jaguar and Nadia-Eagle are pure of heart, like prince Dil Bahadur, and possibly they can help him in his mission, Majesty. Young Alexander knows how to use this modern apparatus and the girl Nadia knows how to see and listen with her heart.”
“Only the king and his heir may enter there,” murmured the monarch.
“With the deepest respect, Majesty, I dare to contradict you. Perhaps there are moments when tradition must be broken,” the lama insisted.
A long silence followed Tensing’s words. It seemed that the wounded man’s strength had reached its limits, but soon he spoke again.
“So be it. The three shall go,” the sovereign finally agreed.
“Perhaps it would not be entirely futile, Majesty, for me to take a look at your wound,” Tensing suggested.
“And why, Tensing? We have another king, my time is over.”
“Possibly we will not have another king until the prince proves that he is worthy,” replied the lama, lifting up the wounded monarch in his powerful arms.
The Nepalese hero found a sleeping bag that Armadillo had left behind, and they arranged a sort of bed where Tensing laid the monarch. The lama opened the king’s blood-soaked jacket and washed his chest to examine it. The bullet had gone completely through, leaving an ugly hole where it had exited his back. From the look and location of the wound, and the color of the blood, Tensing realized that the lungs were involved. There was nothing he could do. All his skills of healing and his tremendous mental powers were of little use in a case like this. The dying man knew that as well, but he wanted a little more time to carry out his last responsibilities. The lama stanched the hemorrhage, bound the king’s chest tightly, and ordered the pilot to bring boiling water from the improvised kitchen so he could
prepare a medicinal tea. An hour later the monarch was fully conscious, and was lucid, though very weak.
“Son, you must be a better king than I was,” he told Dil Bahadur, indicating that he should put the royal medallion around his neck.
“Father, that is impossible . . .”
“Hear me, because I have very little time. These are my instructions. First: Soon you must marry a woman as strong as you. She will have to be the mother of our people, and you the father. Second: Preserve the natural world and the traditions of our kingdom; trust nothing that comes from outside. Third: Do not punish Judit Kinski, the European woman. I do not want her to spend her life in prison. She has made serious errors, but it is not our place to cleanse her karma. She will have to return in another incarnation to learn what she has not learned in this.”
Only then did they remember the woman responsible for their tragedy. They felt sure that she could not have gotten very far. She didn’t know the region, she had no weapon, provisions, or warm clothing, and apparently she was barefoot, since Armadillo had made her take off her boots. But it was Alexander’s opinion that if she had been clever enough to steal the dragon in such spectacular fashion, she was clever enough to escape hell itself.
“I don’t feel prepared to govern, father,” moaned the prince, head bowed.
“You have no choice, son. You have been trained, and you are brave and pure of heart. You can seek counsel from the Golden Dragon.”
“It has been destroyed!”
“Lean closer, I must tell you a secret.”
The others stepped back to leave them alone as Dil Bahadur put his ear to the king’s lips. The prince listened intently to the most vital secret of the kingdom, the secret that for eighteen centuries only the crowned monarchs had known.
“Perhaps it is the hour for you to say good-bye, Dil Bahadur,” Tensing suggested.
“May I stay with my father to the end?”
“No, my son, you must leave now,” the sovereign whispered.
Dil Bahadur kissed his father on the forehead, and got to his feet. Tensing clasped his disciple in a strong embrace. They were saying good-bye for a long time, possibly forever. Before the prince lay the test of his initiation, and it might be that he would not survive it. For his part, the lama had to fulfill the promise made to Grr-ympr to take her place for six years in the Valley of the Yetis. For the first time in his life, Tensing felt overwhelmed by emotion. He loved that young man like a son, more than himself; the pain of being separated from him burned like fire. The lama tried to distance himself and calm his anxiety. He observed the process of his own mind and breathed deeply, taking note of his unleashed emotions and of the fact that he still had a long road to travel before he achieved absolute detachment from earthly matters, including affection. He knew that separation does not exist on the spiritual plane. He remembered that he himself had taught the prince that every being is a part of a single whole, that all things are connected. Dil Bahadur and he would weave through this and other incarnations eternally. Why then was he feeling such anguish?
“Will I be able to reach the Sacred Chamber, honorable master?” asked the prince, interrupting his thoughts.
“Remember that you must be like the tiger: Listen to the voice of intuition and instinct. Trust in the virtues of your heart,” the monk replied.
The prince, Nadia, and Alexander began their return journey to the capital. Since they now knew the route, they were prepared for the obstacles. They used the shortcut through the Valley of the Yetis, so they didn’t happen upon any of the detachments of General Myar Kunglung, who at that moment was climbing the steep mountain trail accompanied by Kate and Pema.
The Blue Warriors, on the other hand, ran straight into Kunglung’s party. They had scrambled down the mountainside as fast as the rough terrain allowed, fleeing from the horrific demons chasing them. The Yetis did not catch up with them, because they dared go no lower than their habitual range. These creatures had one fundamental rule engraved in genetic memory: not to go near beings of a different kind. Only rarely did they abandon their secret valley, and when they did, it was only to look for food in the most inaccessible peaks, far from any humans. That was the salvation of the Sect of the Scorpion: the Yetis’ self-preservation instinct was stronger than their desire to catch their enemies, and the moment came when they simply stopped. They did not do so willingly, because giving up a juicy battle, perhaps the only one that would come along in years, was an enormous sacrifice. For a long time they stood howling with frustration, but then they gave one another a few wallops in consolation, and, heads hanging, began the trek back to their own haunts.
The Blue Warriors didn’t know why the devils in the bloody helmets had quit pursuing them, but they gave thanks to the goddess Kali that they had. The men were so frightened that the thought of going back to claim the statue, as they had planned, never crossed their minds. They continued down the one usable trail, where, inevitably, they met Kunglung’s soldiers.
“There they are! It’s the Blue Warriors!” Pema shouted as soon as she sighted them from a distance.
General Myar Kunglung had no difficulty capturing the men; they had no way of escaping. They gave up without a fight. One officer was assigned to take them back to the capital, guarded by most of the soldiers, and Pema, Kate, the general, and a few of his best men continued toward Chenthan Dzong.
“What will they do to those bandits?” Kate asked the general.
“Is possible their case will be studied by lamas. Then judges will consider. In end, the king will decide punishment. At least always it has been done before. Though is fact that we have so little practice to punish criminals.”
“In the United States they would spend the rest of their lives in prison.”
“And they would achieve wisdom there?” the general asked.
Kate laughed so hard that she almost fell off her horse.
“I doubt it, General,” she replied, drying her tears, when finally she regained control.
Myar Kunglung had no idea what had seemed so hilarious to the writer. He concluded that foreigners are such strange people, with such incomprehensible ways, that it wasn’t worth the energy to try to analyze them. One just had to accept them.
By then night was approaching, and they had to stop and set up a small camp on one of the terraces cut into the mountain. They were eager to get to the monastery, but they knew that to go on with only their flashlights would be foolish.
Kate was exhausted. In addition to the demands of the trail, there was the altitude, to which she was not acclimated, and her cough, which left her no peace. Only her iron will and the hope that she would find Alexander and Nadia kept her going.
“Perhaps you should not worry, Little Grand-mother,” Pema said soothingly. “Your grandson and Nadia are safe. Nothing can happen to them when they are with the prince and Tensing.”
“Something very bad must have happened up there to make those thugs run away like that,” Kate replied.
“They mentioned something about the curse of the Golden Dragon and being chased by devils. Do you believe there are demons in these mountains, Little Grandmother?” the girl asked.
“I don’t believe any of that nonsense, child,” Kate replied, resigned now to being called “grandmother” by everyone in this country.
The night was very long, and no one got much sleep. The soldiers prepared a simple breakfast of salted tea with butter, rice, and some dried vegetables that looked and tasted like shoe leather, then they continued their march. Kate kept up, despite her sixty-five years and lungs wracked by tobacco. General Myar Kunglung said nothing; he did not even glance toward her, for fear of meeting her penetrating blue eyes. Even so, admiration was beginning to grow in his warrior’s heart. At first he had detested her and had counted the hours until he would be rid of her, but as the days passed, he ceased to think of her as an impossible old woman and began to respect her.
The rest of the trip passed without inciden
t. When at last they could see the fortified monastery in the distance, they thought there was no one there. Absolute silence lay over the ancient ruins. Alert, with weapons at the ready, the general and his soldiers advanced, followed closely by the two women. They went through room after room until they came to the last, where they were intercepted by a gigantic monk armed with two sticks joined with a chain. He raised his weapon, moved his feet in a series of complicated steps, and, before the group could react, looped the chain around the general’s neck. The soldiers stopped where they were, unsure of what to do as their chief kicked his feet in the air, suspended between the monk’s monumental arms.
“Honorable Master Tensing!” Pema exclaimed, thrilled to see him.
“Pema?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s me, Honorable Master!” she said, and added, pointing to the humiliated general, “perhaps it would be wise to release the honorable General Myar Kunglung.”
Tensing set the man down delicately, removed the chain from his neck, and bowed respectfully with hands joined at the level of his forehead.
“Tampo kachi, Honorable General,” he greeted him.
“Tampo kachi. And where is king?” the general replied, trying to mask his indignation as he straightened the jacket of his uniform.
Tensing stepped aside, and the group went inside the large chamber. Half of the roof had caved in years before, and the rest was dangerously close to collapsing entirely; there was a large hole in one of the outside walls where the pale light of day was filtering in. A cloud trapped at the peak of the mountain had created a misty ambience in which everything seemed faded, like images in a dream. A threadbare tapestry hung on one ruined wall, and an elegant statue of a reclining Buddha, miraculously intact, lay on the ground as if just roused from a nap.
The body of the king lay upon an improvised table, surrounded with a half dozen lighted yak-butter candles. A draft of air cold as crystal made the candles dance in the golden snow. The heroic Nepalese pilot, keeping watch near the corpse, did not move as the military contingent burst in.