The rough, guttered tissue of the Tiger's face moved up and down as he repeatedly clenched his jaw. He shot an accusing glance at Shan. "People need the abbot of Sangchi on the outside. We have plans."
"The abbot of Sangchi no longer exists," Tenzin declared, then slowly surveyed the ragged group. Nyma, who had not stopped crying since the burial. Gyalo, who silently stroked Jampa's nose. Dremu, sitting in the shadows, staring uncertainly at the fire. Dzopa, the big dobdob, lying on a blanket, his horse-like face downturned, still filled with the pain of losing Jokar. "People need me here," Tenzin said. "We-" he embraced those around him with a sweep of his arm. "We are going to rebuild a gompa. We are going to build a place where Tibetans can learn to heal." He glanced toward Shan then turned back to the purba. "I made a vow to some old men in the mountain."
"Rapjung?" the purba asked in an impatient, disbelieving voice. "That old place can never-"
"If there is going to be a new Tibet," Tenzin replied, "it must be built on the old."
"But the army will come," the Tiger protested. "The howlers will come. Anyone trying to build a gompa will be arrested."
"No," Lokesh said brightly, "that colonel, he has made Rapjung a hidden land."
Tenzin grinned at the old Tibetan. "With strong backs and strong hearts we can build anything," he said. As if to emphasize the point Jampa took a step forward and snorted. "Rapjung gompa was never destroyed, only its buildings. Jokar Rinpoche taught us that. It was just a treasure that had to be uncovered again."
"The government will still look for you. The army. The howlers, they hate you now. They will seek you out as a political enemy now."
"No," Shan interjected. "They will not." He pulled out the paper Lin had given him. "Anya's Chinese uncle wrote a report." Shan read it to them. It was dated the evening before, when he and Tenzin had been in the lama's cave. It explained that while in the mountains looking for reactionaries, Colonel Lin had encountered the abbot of Sangchi, had even captured him and confirmed his identification. But the abbot had tried to escape. There had been a struggle and before Lin's own eyes the abbot had fallen off a high cliff into a gorge. Colonel Lin was writing to certify that the abbot was dead.
"That Zhu filed a false report about Melissa Larkin dying," the purba leader pointed out. "They know he lied."
"This is a colonel in the army," Shan said. "A decorated colonel from an elite unit."
The purba sighed and nodded, conceding that no one was likely to challenge Lin's report. He surveyed the Tibetans who stood by Shan. "All our plans," the Tiger said in a dark voice. "All the people," he added, looking at Somo now. "Drakte," he said pointedly.
"Drakte," Somo said slowly, as she stepped to Tenzin's side, "would have said he and I should build a gompa."
The purba leader stared at her in silence. He studied each of them, then gave a final nod to Shan. "Lha gyal lo," he said quietly, and slipped away into the shadows.
But one of his followers lingered, and stepped to the edge of the firelight. It was Melissa Larkin, wearing a fleece cap and a herder's vest. "I'm staying," she said to Shan, with a new glint in her eyes. "There is much more to understand about how the earth works in Tibet." She began to turn, then paused. "Someday Beijing will discover there is a new headwater for the Yangtze," she added, before she followed the Tiger into the night.
Shan watched the fire with the others for a few more minutes, then wandered into the night himself along the water, watching the stars, until suddenly he saw a flicker of light halfway up the slope. A small campfire. He searched the landscape around him, making sure no one followed, then walked quickly toward the light.
When Shan rose at dawn, he found a dozen Tibetans standing at the edge of the village ruins looking down into the valley. Dremu had appeared and was pacing back and forth as if, like the others, he had grown wary of approaching the water. Shan walked along the line of Tibetans, searching the faces of Nyma and Lhandro, who stood at the front, then Nyma sighed and he followed her gaze to the water. In the rapidly brightening light he began to understand. The making of the lake was finished. During the night the waters had risen above the gap at the end of the valley and were flowing out, past the saddle of land. The lake had reached its natural level, and the buried river was still pouring out of the side of the mountain. The derrick had fallen, disappearing under the water, and the burial mound was now submerged. The debris at the camp had been covered. The lake was serene. The sediment had rapidly settled, so the waters seemed made of deep blue crystal.
Strangely, Shan remembered Larkin's words about meeting Winslow at the sacred lake. He had thought she'd meant Lamtso. But she, above all, had known the water and the rocks and the contour of the land. She had known it would shine like a blue star in the mountains, like one of the lakes the Tibetans called sacred.
They gathered around their cooking fire and spoke of what it meant, then watched solemnly as Shan brought a small object wrapped in felt to the fire. With a knowing look Lokesh extended his open palms and Shan laid the object on them and opened the bundle.
"Victory to the gods," Nyma murmured.
Lepka and Lokesh smiled and nodded, as if they had always known Shan would return the eye in the end.
"Who was it?" Lhandro demanded. "Who attacked you?"
"The eye has come back," was all Shan would say. "It has been watching over the valley for many days."
"Yes," one of the villagers whispered. "We heard it."
The Tibetans gathered close to touch the chenyi stone with tentative fingers, and offer it prayers.
Then Nyma stepped away from the group and stared at Shan. "But here we are," she said with eyes suddenly round and wide. "It's been the biggest mystery all along."
The words hushed everyone. All eyes turned to Shan, who stared at Nyma. Oddly, he realized he was grinning. Something in her words seemed wonderful to him. Despite the murders, the lies, the destruction- the real mystery for Nyma still was where to seat her deity.
"But I know the place now," Shan declared. "The mountain has made the kind of place where deities like to live," he said, and asked Lhandro if he knew where poplar saplings might be cut.
Two hours later a small procession moved to the water's edge, where a coracle had materialized, hastily made of poplar boughs and skins. Two narrow paddles, carved from planks saved from the houses, were in the little boat. Shan unwrapped the eye's felt blanket for the last time and held the jagged stone over his head. Excited murmurs rippled through the assembled Tibetans.
"The virtuous Chinese," someone in the crowd said admiringly. The words caused Shan to pause a moment, reflecting on all that had happened in Yapchi Valley. Perhaps, in the end, the virtuous Chinese who had saved the valley had been Colonel Lin. Or perhaps the virtuous Chinese had been found in pieces of Lin and Gang, Ma and Shan.
As Shan bent to pick up a paddle the crowd fell silent. Confused, he studied the expectant faces, then realized that they did not expect him to go alone. He handed the first paddle to Tenzin, and lifted the second, surveying the faces, then stepped to the side of the small crowd and extended the paddle to a small gaunt man who hovered in the shadows with his wife and children. Shan had found them the night before, huddled with the drum and the stone, and convinced them the time had come to end their hiding.