Fearful Symmetry: A Thriller Page 4

  We passed from nomadic communities where entire families lived in tents alongside their herds to homes built from stacked stones and hovels of the most primitive materials to palatial manors as the town ascended the forested mountain in defiance of gravity, it seemed.

  And over it all lorded the distant Himalayas and our gateway to Shambhala. Unfortunately, before we could even get a peek at Tibet, we had to seek permission inside a ramshackle building that looked just like all of the others, with the notable exceptions of the Union Jack flying from its ramparts and the uniformed officers of the British Indian Army watching our approach from the balcony.

  Five

  Duoxiongla Pass

  Motuo County

  Tibet Autonomous Region

  People’s Republic of China

  October 12th

  Five Days Ago

  Brooks scurried to the rocky ledge in time to hear Warren scream, before the furious wind swept the sound away. Through the blowing snow Brooks saw him, seemingly floating in midair.

  “Help me!” Warren shouted.

  He dangled from the mule’s reins, his legs flailing over the mist, hundreds of feet straight down. He’d managed to grab hold with his right hand, but couldn’t seem to reach it with his left.

  The mule brayed and skidded closer to the edge on the loose talus. Palm-size stones tumbled over the edge and fell past Warren, who stared up at them with an expression of sheer desperation. He’d lost his sunglasses and his eyes were wide with terror. His tears froze in his lashes.

  Brooks reached out over the nothingness. The wind threatened to pry him from the ledge.

  “Grab my hand!”

  Warren swung his left arm, but didn’t come anywhere close. The movement caused the mule to slide even closer to the edge. Her legs trembled. Zhang wrapped his arms around her flank and braced his feet. Adrianne and Julian grabbed the straps they’d used to lash down their packs and pulled with everything they had.

  Warren closed his eyes when a wave of rocks cascaded down onto his face.

  Brooks could see the man’s grip on the rein slipping. The mule lowered her head clear down past the ground. The muscles and tendons in her neck stood out as she fought the treacherous footing in a vain effort to inch away from the precipice. Even her most concerted efforts cost her ground she couldn’t afford to lose. If they didn’t get Warren’s weight off her reins, both of them were going over.

  Adrianne lost her footing and fell. The mule slid right up to the very edge. She stamped her feet and raged against her fate.

  “Listen to me, Warren. You have to do this now. Grab my hand!”

  He made another feeble effort and was rewarded with a rain of stones.

  “I can’t reach!”

  Each time the mule slid, Warren dropped farther away. As it was, Brooks barely had a grip on the rock around which he’d wrapped his left arm and he could feel the wind against his chest. He extended his arm as far as he could reach. Any farther and he’d lose his own tenuous balance. He looked Warren directly in the eyes.

  “Either you take my hand now or you’re going to fall.”

  Zhang hollered and slapped the mule’s flank. She strained and took a half-step back, bringing Warren momentarily closer. He reached again for Brooks as the talus gave way and the mule slid right back to the edge. Warren nearly lost his grip with the sudden drop.

  “You can do this, Warren.”

  “Don’t let me fall, Jordan!”

  “I won’t. You have my word. But if you don’t go now—”

  Warren lunged and caught his hand before Brooks was ready. He felt his grip on the rock slip and the toes of his crampons clatter across the ice. Warren released the rein and grabbed on with his other hand.

  The mule bucked backward and knocked Zhang to the side. Loose rocks poured over the edge.

  Brooks bellowed as he slid over the ledge, his eyes locked on Warren’s. The fog rolled past far below his feet.

  Weight on his legs, arresting his slide. The ledge bit into his abdomen. He stared straight down at Warren. He could feel the other man’s grip slipping, his gloves peeling from his hands.

  Warren looked up at him with an almost resigned expression.

  “Please, God. Don’t let go.”

  Brooks felt arms wrap around his left leg. Fists curled into the back of his jacket. He shouted with the pain as he was pulled back over the ledge. The stone bit into his chest, clipped his chin. It felt like both arms were going to rip out of their sockets. And then he was tasting snow.

  The pressure abated and he raised his face just far enough to see the others hauling Warren up onto the trail. He rolled onto his back and bellowed up into the storm in triumph.

  Warren was on all fours, trembling, when Brooks stood. He looked from Adrianne to Julian and finally to Zhang and thanked each of them with a nod. Had they not come to his aid when they did, he would have either been forced to release Warren or fall to his death alongside him. He rubbed the mule’s smooth cheek, then extended his hand once more to Warren.

  “What do you say we get the hell off this infernal mountain?”

  Warren clasped his hand and struggled to stand. He looked as though he were about to say something, but instead blew out a long, pent-up breath and started tentatively down the decline.

  Brooks did his best to put the near-tragedy out of his mind as they negotiated the slick path, which leveled off, if only slightly with each foot of descent. It led them into the lee of a rugged ridge, where they were spared the brunt of the wind. With the surge of adrenaline waning, Brooks felt an overwhelming sense of exhaustion that threatened to deposit him right there in the snow, but he drew upon reserves he didn’t even suspect he had. Eventually, the frosted leaves of the groundcover peeked out from beneath the accumulation. The brittle crust gave way to slush even slicker than the ice in the higher regions. Fortunately, the path had widened enough that it no longer felt as though they were walking an icy tightrope over the abyss. The mist rode over their ankles and waists as they descended into the thick fog, which clung to them in the absence of the wind.

  Another quarter-mile and the snow retreated into memory. Rhododendrons encroached from all sides, wet with the drizzle that hung in the air as though in defiance of gravity. For as quickly as the temperatures had plummeted, they rose even faster. The cool air combined with the layer of sweat beneath their suddenly sweltering clothes caused the goosebumps to rise almost electrically.

  It struck Brooks how few people had ever made it this far, to a place that seventy years ago had been unknown to the Western world. For as magical as it felt to him, he could only imagine how it must have felt to be Brandt and his party, the first to penetrate the shroud of mystery that hung over this entire region, where only a select few indigenous people had ever passed, most of them nomadic herdsmen whose bones had turned to dust long before the first permanent settlements were erected.

  They wended through narrow valleys cut by whitewater streams, which flowed nearly straight down and with almost unnatural speed. Birds came to life in the thickets and frogs chirruped from the branches and the moldering detritus. A premature dusk crept down from the high country, staining the cloudy sky momentarily crimson before the shadow of Mt. Duoxiongla fell heavily upon them.

  The wooden roofs of several small dwellings materialized from the trees and the mist. They’d finally reached Lage, the first layover point on the arduous journey. Smoke from a cooking fire filtered through the valley and Brooks smelled a heavenly aroma that reminded him of how hungry he was. He felt victorious for making it this far and surviving the harrowing trials of the mountain pass, but he had to caution himself that the journey had only just begun.

  This was still only the first day.

  Part II:

  The Forest of the Night

  Six

  Lage Village

  Motuo County

  Tibet Autonomous Region

  People’s Republic of China

  October 13t
h

  Four Days Ago

  The accommodations in Lage made the hovel in Pai look like the Ritz. It was a ramshackle wooden structure propped above a black pool of stagnant water on rough-hewn wooden blocks, the same kind they used to fashion the lumpy beds and the prison bar-like dividers between the room they shared and the main portion of the dwelling, which itself was little more than a dingy space arranged around a cooking hearth. There was an outhouse crawling with insects of all kinds and the only potable water came from a stream a short walk away, but after the day they’d endured, they were grateful for such comforts. Even Warren was uncharacteristically quiet the following morning. There was nothing like sleeping on a log with knots bruising your back and flies buzzing around your head to instill a little humility.

  Their hosts had no contact whatsoever with the outside world, but were kind and generous. An older woman named Norba served them kalep borkun—a kind of flatbread made from tsampa—from a smoking skillet and goat milk so fresh it was still warm. Adrianne commented that its collection must have been the cause of the bleating that had awakened them before dawn, but none of them dwelled on it. They had another long day ahead of them and were thankful for the hot meal and the curiously sweet drink.

  They left Lage behind at the foot of mist-ensconced Mt. Duoxiongla and entered the steep maze of valleys leading from the sub-alpine temperate zone into what qualified as a jungle by anyone’s definition of the word. Impenetrable snarls of lychee, longan, and durian trees grew from nearly vertical steppes, alongside which a stone path barely wide enough to place both feet beside each other wended. There was no way Dorje would have made the journey, even had Zhang not unilaterally made the decision to leave her behind. The added weight from their packs made negotiating the terrain a feat in itself. Brooks wondered how even such a large animal could have borne their combined weight. Worse was the understanding that had the mule not hauled their gear over the pass, they likely never would have made it. It was a grim reminder of the fact that they were academics, not adventurers, and whatever feelings of invulnerability they carried with them were illusory. Warren had nearly died and, if they weren’t careful, someone else just might. He shook his head to dispel the memory of staring down at Warren as he slid over the edge and seeing nothing but the fear in the man’s eyes and the clouds far below him.

  Chinese ficus trees sent out climbers and runners in an attempt to strangle the life from the other trees, ensnaring them in an inescapable wooden net. Hornbills trumpeted from the upper canopy and occasionally flashed through the sporadic columns of light that penetrated the vegetation. Geckos scurried up the trunks of trees and calote lizards—colloquially called bloodsuckers—scampered across the dead leaves. Boas hung over the thick boughs like glistening brown gobs of taffy. Zhang reminded them that the predators here knew no natural enemies. The last thing they wanted to do was startle a tiger or a king cobra basking on the trail.

  It was impossible to believe that less than twenty-four hours ago they’d been trudging through snow and ice at the top of the world. Now it was all they could do to keep their skin covered so as not to feed the whining clouds of mosquitoes. Their clothes clung to their sweat and hampered their movements. It was a relief when the rain started to patter on the treetops and drip to the ground around them. The humidity made it feel like they were trying to breathe underwater, but not nearly to the extent of the storm when it finally cut loose.

  Brooks had never seen rain quite like it. The drops beat the broad leaves from the branches and released a steady barrage of hard-husked fruit. Water poured in streams from the upper reaches, raced across the already slick path, and fired from the rocky steppes in impromptu waterfalls. Their clothes were drenched before they had a chance to do anything about it, but at least they no longer had to worry about the mosquitoes and the snakes. The streams rose and washed out their banks, sending tangles of uprooted foliage downhill, where the lowlands were already flooded. Mud sluiced through the maze of trunks and roots and spilled across the trail, nearly hiding it from sight.

  Zhang led them toward a yellow granite escarpment that appeared to have been thrust upward from the mantle by some great tectonic upheaval. Epiphytes bloomed from where they’d taken root directly in the cracks between the slithering vines. They were nearly upon it when Brooks saw the mouth of a cave and dashed out of the rain. Their footsteps echoed in the darkness. Brooks looked back past the others and through the entrance, which looked like it had been sealed by a waterfall. He flung the water from his hands and wrung out the front of his shirt.

  “Where the hell did that come from?” Julian asked.

  “You no worry,” Zhang said. “Rain like this not last long.”

  Brooks surveyed his surroundings as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Prayer flags had been strung overhead, across what appeared to be a natural karst formation. Some grew colonies of mold, but most were fairly new and in good repair. Offerings of fine linens had been draped over the speleothems on the limestone walls. Waist-high cairns of stacked stones stood near the walls, at the base of which several pots filled with white sand rested. Sticks of incense stood from them like stubbed cigarettes. The algae on the walls had been worn away where hands had used the contours of the cave to guide themselves deeper into the darkness. The sound of condensation dripping from somewhere ahead of him was loud enough that he could distinguish it from the roar of the storm.

  “What is this place?” Adrianne asked.

  “This Dayandong. It mean ‘Big Cave.’ Very holy place.”

  Brooks slipped out of his backpack and walked away from the others. He followed the dripping sound toward the rear of the cave, where a small pool with phosphorescent blue water shimmered. The surrounding walls had been carved into various incarnations of the Buddha, each with different hand gestures, or mudras, which symbolized unique and important teachings, from wisdom to spiritualism and balance with nature. Offerings of all types rested at the feet of each one. There were scarves so old they’d deteriorated to strands of silk and coins and trinkets rusted to the point that it was impossible to tell what they once were.

  One Buddha stood apart from the others, its visage dramatically more detailed and humanlike. It loomed over the pool as though guarding it, its eyes seeming to follow Brooks as he approached. He stood directly before the pool and looked down into the water. It didn’t shimmer because of phosphorescent organisms as he had initially suspected, but rather from the sheer quantity of gemstones covering the bottom. There had to be a fortune in precious stones down there. The thought of men and women making the perilous pilgrimage to this grotto just to throw away their jewels was incomprehensible.

  “Are they real?” Julian asked.

  He knelt beside Brooks, reached into the water, and pulled out a fistful of uncut emeralds and rubies and jade that sparkled in even the wan light. Zhang grabbed his wrist and squeezed, for the first time his grin gone.

  “These offerings not for you.”

  “Okay, okay. I was just looking, for God’s sake.”

  He dropped the gems back into the water and cautiously pulled his arm from Zhang’s grip. Their trail boss knelt and smoothed the stones along the bottom of the pool. He whispered something in Chinese. Brooks caught just enough to recognize the word liánmǐn—to have mercy. Zhang glanced into the Buddha’s lap, then quickly away.

  Brooks followed his stare to the statue. The Buddha sat cross-legged with its right hand raised, the palm facing outward and the fingers extended, and its left hand supinated in its lap. Cradled in its palm was what at first looked like a handful of white pebbles, or perhaps bits of ivory. Brooks leaned closer and realized they were anything but stone.

  They were teeth. Most of them undeniably human. He didn’t know enough about animalian dentition to guess as to which species supplied the remainder, but they were obviously canines taken from a large predatory species, likely a tiger.

  The hairs rose on the backs of his arms and neck and he stifled a shi
ver. He turned away and saw sunlight through the mouth of the cave.

  When he looked back, the grin had returned to Zhang’s face.

  “See? I tell you rain stop soon. Now we leave.”

  And with that he struck off into little more than a drizzle.

  Brooks shouldered his pack, glanced one final time at the grotto, and walked out into the oppressive humidity with the others.

  The rain fell just hard enough to spare them from the mosquitoes, which allowed them to concentrate on their footing. The mud made the trail even more treacherous, in many ways even more so than the ice. Far below, the stream flowed high and dark, just waiting for its opportunity to claim them with a single misstep. It wasn’t long before the path leveled and wended off into the trees, where the footing was only marginally better, but at least if they slipped they wouldn’t careen to their deaths from the top of the cliff.

  The others marveled at the brazen snub-nosed monkeys that hopped within inches of them before darting back into the trees and screeching playfully. Even Warren amused himself by setting pieces of dried fruit on his shoulder and waiting for the creatures to hop down onto his backpack and snatch them. Brooks smiled outwardly, but couldn’t seem to shake what he had seen in the grotto.