Fiddleback Trilogy 2 - Evil Ascending Page 5

  The weather cooled as they climbed in altitude, but Coyote remained surprised at how seasonable the climate was. He had expected to need cold-weather gear, but they were not assaulting Mount Everest. The thick yak-hair blankets their guide had brought with them were more than enough to ward off the chilly night air. During the day, a thin shirt or jacket proved more than sufficient, especially since the desert plateau on which they traveled got so little rain.

  Coyote turned to Crowley as they approached the monastery. "It is beautiful. By the looks of it, it must have been one of the first restoration projects of the new government."

  Crowley shared a smile with Khedrup, then shook his head. "No restoration needed. The Chinese never shelled it like they did Norbulinka, the Jokhang, Sera Monastery or the Potala."

  "This is a rather remote area. I guess getting here would have been difficult."

  "Actually, the Chinese wanted Kanggenpo destroyed very badly. The Dalai Lama stopped here on his way out of Tibet in March of 1959." Crowley pointed to some scars on the landscape. "It's been a good 50 years, but you can still see evidence of the elite mechanized division they sent out to get him and his family. Because he had escaped from Norbulinka disguised as a soldier, Mao Zedong put a crack unit on him."

  Coyote's eyes narrowed. "How could this monastery avoid damage?" He dropped a hand to the stainless-steel pistol riding on his right hip. "I could hit the walls from here with my Wildey."

  "Ah, but you can see it; they could not. Even during the First Cultural Revolution, Mao wanted this place destroyed, but again his hunters could not find it."

  Coyote considered his words for a moment. "I take it this has something to do with my empathic abilities, my being a sensitive? When you explained it all to me before, you likened it to being able to see in the ultraviolet range. I take it this place is rendered in ultraviolet, for all intents and purposes?"

  "Close and logical, but no." Crowley frowned for a moment, then pointed back toward the monastery. "What do you see?"

  Coyote looked up, then removed his glasses. Where he had once seen the tall ochre walls of the monastery, with tiled roofs and colorful banners flying from them, he saw nothing. "It's gone."

  "To continue your sight analogy, what would you see in a place where there was no light at all?"

  "Nothing."

  "Exactly." Crowley closed his eyes and Kanggenpo materialized out of thin air and again hung from the sheer mountainside. "Kanggenpo is one of a number of spots on the Earth in which empathic abilities are muted. Right now I am sending to you the image that I am getting from Khedrup—he can see it because those shielding the lamasery are permitting him to see it. If I so desired, I could change the image in subtle ways, so you would only see what I passed on."

  "But if this place deadens my abilities, how will I learn what you are bringing me here to learn?"

  Crowley smiled easily. "I said muted, not deadened. Imagine weight training on a world with greater gravity than Earth. You will have to work harder to be able to break through. They will show you how. Kanggenpo is probably the only place on the planet where you can learn what you must know. And the only way you get here is to be led by someone who knows the way."

  The taller man settled his sunglasses over his eyes again. "Kanggenpo. You said it means 'ice temple.' If one has to be led here, how was it founded and how did you find it?"

  "I think the khenpo can better explain the history of Kanggenpo than I." Crowley's gloved left hand strayed to his goatee and stroked it unconsciously. "I got here because I helped foil an assassination attempt on the Dalai Lama in the summer of 1989—the Chinese government was trying to corner the market on stupid repression tactics that year. Word went out and I was brought to Kanggenpo much as you are being brought now."

  As their ponies struggled up the last steep section of the trail, the massive bronze gates in the monastery wall swung inward. Coming around a curve in the trail, Coyote caught his first glimpse of the lamasery's cobbled courtyard and the twin stone lions stretched down a long stairway to form the railings. Through the narrow viewing port the gate made, Coyote saw tantalizing bits and pieces of vast murals painted on the interior walls.

  Red-robed monks and their brown-robed students traveled in tiny knots throughout the ancient fortress. While he saw a few individuals that were not the typical black-haired ethnic Tibetans, that surprised Coyote less than another detail he noticed. "No women?"

  Crowley shook his head. "No women, which is a bit odd since Gelukpa Buddhism is a tradition built out of the Vajrayana tradition, which is known in the West as Tantric Buddhism. Tantric practices include esoteric sexual rituals and meditations, which outraged many missionaries and right-thinking folks in the West when they heard of it. Once monks in the Geluk tradition have mastered all five disciplines, tantric studies are open to them. Until that time, which will take a minimum of 20 years, they are strictly celibate and abstain from alcohol and narcotics."

  "What you've brought me here to study won't take 20 years, will it?"

  "That anxious to see your executive assistant again, are you?"

  Coyote chuckled lightly. "Better her than Fiddleback, but I don't think either one would wait 20 years for me to complete my coursework here."

  "True. No, here you will be schooled in the third and fourth groups of Geluk studies. Oumah is the study of the path between extremes and Sunyata concerns itself with nonexistence or voidness." Crowley nodded at Khedrup. "He will be studying Oumah first, then Sunyata, because his goal is to become one with the universe and attain enlightenment. You will study them in reverse because you desire to learn how to flow through the universe."

  Their two ponies clip-clopped through the entryway and rapjungs labored to close the massive gates behind them. Ahead, Khedrup had already dismounted and another of the novitiates led his riding and pack ponies off. Their guide bowed to the red-robed monk slowly descending the steps, then ran off into the monastery's interior.

  Crowley sprang from his saddle as if he'd had more than a half-dozen hours of sleep in the past 36 and bowed to the monk. "Toshi dili, Lama Mong."

  The wizened monk smiled serenely and returned the bow. "Pyag dan-po-la, Mi-ma-yin."

  Coyote slowly swung down from his saddle, and his legs ached as they accepted his weight again. He nodded respectfully to the old monk, then followed it with a bow as a ragjung led his ponies off. "Nga min Coyote yjn," he offered in the only Tibetan Crowley had taught him.

  The monk looked from Coyote to Crowley. "'Coyote'?" The old man scratched at his bald pate. "Ha ko ma song, Mi-ma-yin."

  "Kyi rkan-jnyis," Crowley replied with a shrug. "'Coyote' is a word he did not understand. I translated for him."

  The monk nodded. "But does your friend know you called him a cur?"

  "No, he did not." The monk's use of flawless English surprised Coyote. "A coyote is a stepping stone between wolves and dogs."

  "Kyi-can, Mi-ma-yin, I think, not kyi rkan-jnyis." He smiled at Coyote. "Would you not think of it more as a jackal than a cur?"

  "Given the choice, yes, definitely."

  Mong nodded solemnly. "Then Kyi-can you shall be."

  Coyote thought he heard judgment in Mong's voice, but no emotions broke the serenity of the monk's expression. "Thank you, I think."

  Crowley let a look of indifference sweep across his face. "Mong is the khenpo of Kanggenpo."

  Again Coyote bowed to the old monk. Mong returned his bow, then offered him his hand. Coyote took it and found the small man had a surprisingly strong grip. His hands are calloused as well. He seems to be more than just an ascetic.

  "I hope Kanggenpo will suit your needs."

  "As do I, Lama Mong."

  Coyote looked around the interior of the lamasery and immediately noted one detail that surprised him: Around the main gate, in 27 little alcoves running up the sides and across the top, red-robed monks sat in the lotus position, chanting softly. In the south wall, Coyote noted the same arrangement, but the
gate they surrounded had been carved of stone and could not be moved. To the north, hidden among smaller buildings, he saw one or two monks in place and assumed the rest were there as well. He also assumed there was a gate to the east, but both the north and east walls fit flush into the mountain.

  "If I might inquire, why do you have gates that lead nowhere and people watching them?"

  "They are pa-tsab. They serve as the guardians of Kanggenpo. They are the reason we remain undiscovered." Mong looked toward the stone gate in the south wall. "Twenty-seven at each gate adds up to the sacred number 108. We are warded well no matter which direction enemies might choose to come at us."

  "I see."

  "You will see even more, Coyote." Crowley clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll be leaving you here in Mong's very capable hands. O-na gha-le sku bzugs snan, Lama Mong."

  "O-na gha-le peb, Mi-ma-yin." The old monk bowed to Crowley and smiled at him.

  Crowley walked away from both men, heading south. He turned left, as if wanting to mount the stairs, but his image seemed to go two-dimensional. It slipped forward and vanished as if it had passed beyond some sort of invisible curtain. Without a sound, his lagging foot vanished and no evidence remained to suggest he had ever been there at all.

  "Mi-ma-yin has changed in body, but not spirit." Mong eyed him up and down, his gaze lingering on the massive silvery pistol on Coyote's hip. "I understand the reverse has happened with you, Kyi-can."

  "I suppose, yes, by way of contrast with Crowley, this is true. Does this concern you?"

  "Should it?" The monk watched him closely.

  "It should concern others, not you." Coyote kept his face neutral. "One thing I wish to know, if I might: Why do you call Crowley 'Mi-ma-yin'?"

  "When he first came to us, he had another identity, one of which Crowley was only a part. Mi-ma-yin means 'one who is not human.' It usually refers to ghosts, but in his case . . ." The old monk shrugged, and Coyote understood.

  Coyote folded his arms across his chest. "Then teach me what you taught him. The creature I hunt is not human, either."

  Sinclair MacNeal smiled in spite of himself as the America West flight attendant handed him his glass of Diet Pepsi. "Are you certain you don't want something stronger, Mr. MacNeal? You look like you've had a rough day, and it's only 8 A.M."

  "No and yes." He accepted the glass from her, and their fingers brushed against each other. He quickly read the name embroidered on her apron. "Thank you, Erika. I'm afraid it's not a new day for me, just extra innings from yesterday."

  "I'll be back soon to see if you need anything else." She winked at him and continued her service to the first-class cabin of the America West 787.

  Sin laid his head back against the thick leather padding of the wide seat and sipped his soda again. This is insanity for me. I've no reason to go to Japan for a madman. He set the drink down and started worrying the package of almonds Erika had placed on his tray table. I've also got no reason to stay in Phoenix.

  His father, Darius MacNeal, had made good on his threat to fire him and evict him from the Build-more corporate citadel. After his trip to the hospital for Coyote, Sin had tried to return to his apartment, but he found himself locked out of the residential levels of the main tower. When he went to complain to security, he was handed a small box of personal items and was told everything else had been paid for by Build-more and, therefore, would remain in the possession of Build-more.

  The guard had even gone so far as to try to strip the clothes off his back, but Sin decided that would be going too far. After the paramedics carted the man off, Sin stormed into his father's office and right past his secretary. She never even made an attempt to stop me. She knew what was coming.

  Inside, he found his father sitting down to drinks with two other men. The first was a tall, slender man who could have benefited from having his hawk-beak nose pared down to normal size and having the scraps used to give him a chin. Sin recognized him as a Build-more employee from the Operations division. A bean counter. His name is Dodd. Watson Dodd.

  Darius and Dodd dwarfed the third man, yet the small man did not seem to take notice of their size differential. When Sin entered the room, his hands tightened down into fists, then opened again slowly. He snapped his heels together, bowed his blond head and grinned wolfishly. "Guten abend, Herr MacNeal."

  "Get bent, you fascist pygmy." Sin waved Dodd and the smaller man away contemptuously. "You both just remembered an urgent meeting—Dodd, your wife's delivering now and you, Heinrich, your Warriors just found another synagogue to vandalize."

  "Well, well, has the Prodigal Son returned?" Darius' left hand pressed Dodd down into a chair. Heinrich sat back and sipped his drink. "You should not be ordering my guests about."

  "Guests? You do not want them here, Father." Sin's long strides ate up the distance between him and the bar. "You and I are going to have it out, right here, right now."

  Darius smoothed his white hair into place at the back of his head, "It will have to wait. I need to brief Mr. Dodd on his duties as my new vice president in charge of security."

  "What!" Sin stared so hard at Dodd that the man's chest should have caved in. "That's my job."

  "That was your job, traitor." Darius' blue eyes burned with energy. "You were fired after your disgraceful conduct two weeks ago. Were it not for company policy offering two weeks' severance to all employees, you'd have been gone that second. You dared presume to order me to cease my financial relationship with the Warriors of the Aryan World Alliance."

  Heinrich looked shocked at that little revelation. "You wound me, Sinclair. I thought we were friends."

  "I'll wound you worse, you snake. Next time you decide to assassinate someone, why don't you pull the trigger yourself?" He looked at his father. "I just left the hospital where they've got Hal Garrett. He'll recover, but one of the bullets impinged on some nerve. Partial paralysis of his left leg. That's what the money you gave WAWA got you."

  Sin glared at Dodd. "When your child's born, be sure to tell him Daddy hires men to gimp good citizens for a living. Make your kid proud."

  His father shook his head. "Wait, you must forgive my son. He was too indulged as a child."

  "Oh, you're claiming me, now? That's more than you did when I grew up or the last time you fired me." Sin hit a hidden release on the bar, letting a panel swing out. He took a cut-crystal glass from there and filled it with ice. "Your guests don't rate the good crystal, Dad?"

  Darius smoldered. "Your mother warped you."

  Sin laughed and filled his glass with Jameson's Irish Whisky. "Ah, blame it on Mother again because she named me." He looked at the other two men. "You've met my brothers Harpo, Hypo and Dumbo, haven't you?"

  "Alexander, Xerxes and Tiberius. Don't you dare disparage them because they are better sons than you could ever be."

  "Invertebrate zombies that worship the cornucopia that walks like a man." Sin took a slug of the whisky and let it burn its way down to his belly. "You've hated me since the start because I dared stand up to you. You can't walk all over me like you do them."

  "Because you run away from conflict."

  "Ah, the victor writes the history, is that it?" Sin set his glass down on the bar. "I think some minority reports would disagree with you."

  "How can you be like this, after all I've done for you?" His father's voice took on an offended tone. "If not for me . . ."

  "I might have actually been happy."

  "Are we doing to go over Christina again?" Sin's father looked pained. "I told you she was only after my money."

  Sin shook his head, then focused on Watson Dodd. "I come back from college with my fiancée, Christina. Dad tells me she's not good enough for me, only a gold digger. He then sends me off to London to deal with a problem in a site there. I'm gone for a month, at the end of which Chrissy breaks off our engagement. And guess why?" He pointed at his father. "She wasn't good enough for me, but she was for my father."

  "I just proved she w
as after my money."

  "But did you have to keep proving it for three years?" Sin pounded his right fist against his thigh. "Remember that, Dodd, when my father tells you that your wife is not good enough for you."

  Darius laughed lightly. "Are you through?"

  "Nope, we're through, Father. You're a bastard, always have been a bastard and always will be a bastard. I was going to demand my things, but no more. I want nothing from you."

  "And nothing you shall get." Darius pointed imperiously toward the door. "You no longer have a father."