The Cloud Maker (2010) (25 page)

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Authors: Patrick Woodhead

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BOOK: The Cloud Maker (2010)
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Shara stood next to him, her eyes moving over each building in turn.
‘The Monastery of Geltang,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve waited my whole life to see this.’
‘It’s like a mirage,’ Luca said, then turning to her, his voice urgent despite his exhaustion, ‘where are we, Shara? What is this place?’
She shook her head. ‘All you need to know is that it’s a monastery, a safe place where we can get help for Bill. Save your strength. We still have a valley to cross.’
She turned back towards Bill who was lying against a rock. His head had slumped to one side. She knelt down, cupping his chin in her hands.
Bill’s eyes were half-closed, their bloodshot whites just visible, and his mouth hung open, spittle collecting at the corners. His hair was slicked down with sweat and his whole body trembled violently. He was in the grip of the fever now – soon the delirium would start. As she felt down under his thighs to check the makeshift bandages, a watery mixture of blood and pus seeped out across her hand.
‘The infection has come on so fast,’ she said, tears of guilt pricking her eyes. ‘He’s lost so much blood . . .’
Bill could see her face above his: the swathe of long black hair, the green eyes wide with concern. Then he heard her voice again, but this time only fragments of what she said made sense. There was a rushing sound, as if she were speaking from behind a waterfall. He heard her say something to Luca. A monastery . . . A valley to cross . . .
‘Bill.’
Through the waterfall, he heard his name spoken from a distance, then Luca’s face was right before him.
Now his feet were stumbling across a path, his climbing boots dragging over the rocks and kicking up dust. Stones showered down beside them as they descended into the new valley and he could hear the sound of his own breathing filling his head. It was heavy, laboured, blocking everything else out.
Colours swam across his vision: the dull brown of the path, flashes of blue as his head briefly rolled back towards the sky, and then back to the arid land again.
Then came a brilliant white. It was intense, burning out every other colour. He squinted against it, his whole world painfully bright, before realising that it was the sun reflecting off huge marble steps.
He could hear breathing again, louder now. It was Luca, his face pressed right against Bill’s as he hauled him up the steps, one at a time.
Then there was a dull crack and Bill felt his head recoil. He lay still, face down on the marble steps, where Luca had missed his footing and fallen. A warm, salty taste filled his mouth. Blackness edged around his vision like spilled ink, growing thicker, closing around him, blotting out the brilliant white.
An image of Cathy came to him then. She was curled up on the sofa in the living room, a blanket over her legs. He was there with her. She was smiling. She was smiling because he was there.
‘Come on!’
Luca’s voice.
‘Come on, Bill! Stay with me. We’re nearly there.’
He could hear the edge of panic and wondered why Luca was so upset. Why was he shouting at him?
Another voice. Female. Not Cathy. The swathe of black hair was back again and he felt himself being lifted once more. The stairs. The bleached out white.
To his right, he heard an animal groan as Luca fought with every ounce of strength in his thighs to climb the final few steps into an open courtyard. Luca felt a muscle in his lower back tear and his body buckled to one side, but he kept pumping with his legs, dragging Bill forward.
Luca’s eyes were wide, staring straight ahead. There was a manic light to them as the adrenaline disconnected him from all feeling in his body. Every emotion was blocked, bypassed by the single need to reach the top. He had to finish, had to reach the summit. Nothing mattered except reaching the summit.
They came out into a courtyard of grey flagstones, warmed by the sun. A line of wide-leafed trees ran through the centre, each surrounded by a scattering of fallen white and purple blossom. Further back, just visible through some archways, another smaller stairway seemed to lead to a separate complex of buildings.
‘Find . . . someone,’ Luca panted as he laid Bill down on the flagstones, his breathing so laboured he could barely get the words out. For a moment Shara stood motionless, her mind blank and her eyes dull with exhaustion.
‘Shara! Wherever the hell you’ve taken us . . . get some help!’
She looked at him for a moment, something like fear flickering across her face. Then she seemed to gather herself and nodded, stumbling off towards one of the many archways.
Luca turned back to attend to Bill. He sat with his own legs out straight, resting Bill’s head on the top of his thigh. Looking down at his friend’s face, he saw the broken nose from where they had fallen on the marble step. Blood crawled down the side of his face like the trails of a spider’s web.
‘We’ve made it, mate,’ Luca whispered. ‘We did it.’
There was not a flicker of response. Bill’s head stayed slumped to one side, his eyes closed. Luca shook his shoulder gently.
‘Stay awake, Bill. That’s all you’ve got to do. Stay awake for just a few more minutes.’
Luca peered more closely at his friend’s face. There wasn’t a hint of movement. He bent forward, pressing his ear against Bill’s mouth, listening for any sign that he was breathing. Nothing.
‘No. No. No,’ Luca repeated, panic rising in him as he put two fingers against Bill’s throat, pressing down to feel for a pulse. He stared at his fingers, stained with a mixture of blood and dirt, willing them to find a heartbeat. All he could hear was the hammering of his own chest.
Forcing himself to slow his breathing, Luca closed his eyes and concentrated. Gradually, he began to feel the faint flutter coming from Bill’s throat. It was so weak it was barely perceptible, running fast and irregular – but it was there.
Luca tilted back his head, breathing out a long sigh of relief, and let his eyes scan the buildings encircling them. There was a stillness to them that made him feel the whole place hadn’t seen movement for centuries, and now they were the first to trespass upon it.
Opening directly off the courtyard, the façade of the main building towered over them. Proportioned against the mountains the monastery had been impressive, but only now that he was up close did Luca understand the true scale of his surroundings. Walls reached up, smooth and unbroken, for hundreds of feet above them, cut into the rock of the mountain itself.
Behind him, he heard the sound of footsteps and turned to see a group of three monks following Shara through an archway. Each had a shaven head and wore a long cornflower blue robe that billowed with the speed of their approach. Before Luca had managed to get to his feet, a short man who was plainly the leader came to stand before him, arms folded across his chest.
Shara appeared by his side.
‘This is Drang, the aide to Geltang’s chief physician. They’re going to take Bill to him now.’
Luca looked at him, taking in the raised, twisting scar that ran from the crown of Drang’s head all the way down to his left eyebrow, making it droop slightly. He looked to be about forty years old, short and very stocky, with eyes shadowed by a heavy brow. His hair was shaved to stubble, while years spent exposed to the harsh Tibetan sun had turned his skin the colour of hardwood. His right arm was bare, the veins crossing his powerful forearm standing out in jagged lines.
Drang motioned to the two other monks who quickly moved to either side of Bill and hoisted him up by his shoulders and legs. Both strained under his weight, then, adjusting their balance, moved off towards the far stairway.
‘Hey, wait!’ Luca said, raising one hand. He made to follow, shuffling forward whilst clutching his lower back. But before he could move more than a couple of steps Drang’s arm shot out, grabbing the front of his Gore-Tex jacket so that he was stopped dead in his tracks.
‘What the hell . . .’ Luca said in surprise, staring down at the beefy monk. He was nearly a foot taller than Drang but only half his build, with barely the strength to stand. As Luca reached up to force his hand away, Shara stepped forward, speaking urgently in Tibetan.
A moment later, Drang’s fist slowly unclenched, releasing the front of Luca’s jacket and he stepped back a pace.
‘I’m sorry, Luca. Drang just meant for you to stay out of the way,’ Shara explained. ‘Time is running out for Bill. We should not disturb them.’
Luca shook his head slowly, his mind fogged by tiredness.
‘Is he going to be all right?’
‘We’ll do everything we can, I promise.’ Then, taking Luca by the arm, she led him to the far side of the courtyard with Drang following silently in their wake.
‘I know you’re worried and have a thousand questions, but we’re all exhausted. Drang will lead you to some quarters where you can wash and sleep. I’m going to do the same, but I’ll be waiting for you when you wake. I promise I’ll answer all your questions then.’
Luca stared at her, the weight of fatigue overwhelming his suspicion. He could feel himself swaying. That final climb, carrying Bill across the valley and up those stairs, had drained every last vestige of strength from him.
‘As soon as you hear any more about Bill . . .’
‘I promise to let you know,’ Shara said, with a faint smile. ‘Bill’s a strong man. He’ll make it through this.’
They walked up to a thick, wooden door set under one of the courtyard’s arches. With a stabbing movement of his hand, Drang motioned for Luca to continue into the shadowed interior of the monastery.
With a final glance at Shara, Luca ducked his head and stepped inside.
As the door closed behind him Shara leaned against one of the vaulted pillars, resting her forehead on the hard stone. Her legs trembled from sheer exhaustion and she felt a wave of nausea pass over her. She stood like this for a moment, trying to muster the strength to move, when suddenly she heard a voice directly behind her.
‘
What have you done?
’
Spinning around, she saw a figure advancing out of the shadows. The silhouette of a man moved towards her like an apparition. Then, as it was illuminated by the full light of day, she saw that the figure was thin and angular, with a body bent from age and robes hanging loose around it. The face was deathly pale except for some patches of brown, sun-damaged skin visible beneath his balding white hair.
‘
I said, what have you done?
’
The eyes . . . there was something wrong with his eyes. Shara found herself staring into milky-white irises. The sockets too were damaged by some long-ago injury. And yet those eyes seemed to stare directly at her, blank but somehow accusing.
‘
I . . . I . . . don’t know what you mean
,’ she stammered back in Tibetan, feeling herself recoil as the figure moved closer.
‘
You may have shown courage by taking your brother’s place, but you have now disgraced him. And us
,’ the man hissed, a vein sticking out on the side of his neck as if a worm had been caught under its skin. ‘
You have brought outsiders to our monastery. You risk everything that we have spent centuries trying to protect!
’
‘
But I had no choice . . . he was going to die
.’
‘
You of all people should know the value of what we have here. If they ever discover
 . . .’ The figure lapsed into silence.
‘
Gather your strength
.’ He signalled impatiently for Shara to follow him along one wall of the courtyard, towards another entrance.
‘You are going to tell me everything you know.’
Chapter 34
Cloud lay thick across the valley. It covered everything, wrapping around the crooked sides of mountains and smoothing flat the twisted valleys in between. Beyond its reach, Geltang Monastery perched high on its rock-face like a giant eyrie, its sheer walls basking in the warmth of the morning sun.
Behind one of the endless lines of open windows a monk stared out, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes half-closed as they squinted against the glare of the sun. His normally placid expression had sharpened. A deep vertical worry line creased the centre of his forehead. He breathed in deeply, nostrils flaring as they drew in cool air from outside, and tried to steady his nerves.
His eyes followed the same line of jagged peaks he had witnessed each morning for the last thirty-six years. But today he looked upon the mountains afresh, each knife-edged ridge and towering summit so magnificent and perfect that he could scarcely believe the beauty of them all. It was only now that he felt such awe. Only now that he knew they were threatened.
The monk slowly shook his head. Thirty-six years since he had first arrived at Geltang, and in all that time he had never felt as uncertain as he did right now. Despite all their preparations, despite their every precaution, the impossible had happened: foreigners had finally discovered the monastery.
Swivelling round, the monk set off down the corridor with unaccustomed haste. Passing the nearest flight of steps, he turned left at the end of the corridor, then right, coming to a halt in front of a heavy gilded door. He raised his hand to knock, then stopped, his head slumping forward until his forehead was resting against the wooden doorframe.

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