good condition. A farmer was loading his horse cart and stopped to give a solemn bow as they rolled past.
Savage put out his cigarette and lit a second. “I love Tibet. I come here when I want to get away from it all. The first time was in the 1950s, with the Chinese invasion. The military conquest was very straightforward. The Tibetans were armed with bows and arrows, and the Chinese rolled in with tanks. But the Tibetans had powerful sorcerers. I was hired by the Chinese to deal with them.”
“I would have thought China had its own magicians.”
Savage’s lips parted slyly. “It has more than mere magicians.”
A mountain loomed up ahead. Its top was lost in the clouds, but the sun, just appearing over the jagged mountain range, lit the east-facing side with a soft pinkish hue. Lights shone upon its sheer walls, and as they drew closer Ash saw buildings and terraces and towers. Birds, mere black specks, circled above the many golden roofs and gardens that jutted out from the rock.
“Bukrong monastery,” said Savage. “The Chinese gave it to me after we’d cleared out the monks.”
As they approached Ash strained his neck gazing up and up at it. It seemed to have been built out of the mountainside. The walls were ochre, red, blue and white, vibrant and fresh against the austere grey of the stone. Vast glaciers surrounded the monastery, brilliant and shimmering as the sun rose.
The gates opened up and they entered a courtyard. Servants, local Tibetans in long red coats, rushed to open the door the moment the car stopped. Behind them came in the other two vehicles and soon Savage was accepting tea from his bowing staff. A cup was offered to Ash and he took it, glad of the hot fluid warming him.
The gates closed with an ominous dull thud.
“Rooms have been prepared for you, Ash, so eat, rest and make yourself comfortable.” Savage started up the wide staircase into the main building. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
Jackie growled in Ash’s ear, “Let me take you to your rooms.”
He followed her.
“You have this floor to yourself,” she said when they arrived at his quarters. “There is a servant outside if you need anything.”
Ash glanced at the door. “No locks?”
“Where can you possibly go?” said Jackie, closing the door behind her as she left.
Chapter Fourteen
D aylight woke Ash. Bright shards of light illuminated the bedroom, cut into uneven angles by the old wooden window shutters.
Blimey, he was stiff. Ash forced himself up, aching and groaning like an old man. So this was what it felt like to be human. He’d forgotten.
His rumbling belly reminded him that he hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. Beside the bed was a brass bowl of fruit. He devoured an apple and set to munching his way through a couple of bananas. A mug of Chinese tea waited on a table and he sipped it as he pushed and stretched himself, roughly knocking the ache out of his muscles. There was a pile of magazines stacked on a table. Ash flicked through a few as he ate.
They all had Savage on the front.
Time
’s Man of the Year. The
Economist
.
Newsweek
. He was even on the cover of
Rolling Stone
with a bunch of rock stars. There he stood, white-suited, black-framed and gold-skinned, a god among mortals.
It felt as if Savage had already won.
Ash turned the magazines over so he wouldn’t have to look at Savage’s smug, victorious face.
A bath filled with steaming water waited, with fresh clothing piled on stools beside. Ash dragged his bruised body into the hot water and let the pain soak out.
Now what are you gonna do?
Time to review the situation.
The cons. Trapped somewhere in the highest mountain range in the world. Captive of an immortal sorcerer who can travel through Time. Guarded by a demon princess who wants to kill me really, really badly. Not friends with a jackal-demon who wants the same, if not more.
What else?
Oh yes, total and permanent loss of all superhuman
Savage put out his cigarette and lit a second. “I love Tibet. I come here when I want to get away from it all. The first time was in the 1950s, with the Chinese invasion. The military conquest was very straightforward. The Tibetans were armed with bows and arrows, and the Chinese rolled in with tanks. But the Tibetans had powerful sorcerers. I was hired by the Chinese to deal with them.”
“I would have thought China had its own magicians.”
Savage’s lips parted slyly. “It has more than mere magicians.”
A mountain loomed up ahead. Its top was lost in the clouds, but the sun, just appearing over the jagged mountain range, lit the east-facing side with a soft pinkish hue. Lights shone upon its sheer walls, and as they drew closer Ash saw buildings and terraces and towers. Birds, mere black specks, circled above the many golden roofs and gardens that jutted out from the rock.
“Bukrong monastery,” said Savage. “The Chinese gave it to me after we’d cleared out the monks.”
As they approached Ash strained his neck gazing up and up at it. It seemed to have been built out of the mountainside. The walls were ochre, red, blue and white, vibrant and fresh against the austere grey of the stone. Vast glaciers surrounded the monastery, brilliant and shimmering as the sun rose.
The gates opened up and they entered a courtyard. Servants, local Tibetans in long red coats, rushed to open the door the moment the car stopped. Behind them came in the other two vehicles and soon Savage was accepting tea from his bowing staff. A cup was offered to Ash and he took it, glad of the hot fluid warming him.
The gates closed with an ominous dull thud.
“Rooms have been prepared for you, Ash, so eat, rest and make yourself comfortable.” Savage started up the wide staircase into the main building. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
Jackie growled in Ash’s ear, “Let me take you to your rooms.”
He followed her.
“You have this floor to yourself,” she said when they arrived at his quarters. “There is a servant outside if you need anything.”
Ash glanced at the door. “No locks?”
“Where can you possibly go?” said Jackie, closing the door behind her as she left.
Chapter Fourteen
D aylight woke Ash. Bright shards of light illuminated the bedroom, cut into uneven angles by the old wooden window shutters.
Blimey, he was stiff. Ash forced himself up, aching and groaning like an old man. So this was what it felt like to be human. He’d forgotten.
His rumbling belly reminded him that he hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. Beside the bed was a brass bowl of fruit. He devoured an apple and set to munching his way through a couple of bananas. A mug of Chinese tea waited on a table and he sipped it as he pushed and stretched himself, roughly knocking the ache out of his muscles. There was a pile of magazines stacked on a table. Ash flicked through a few as he ate.
They all had Savage on the front.
Time
’s Man of the Year. The
Economist
.
Newsweek
. He was even on the cover of
Rolling Stone
with a bunch of rock stars. There he stood, white-suited, black-framed and gold-skinned, a god among mortals.
It felt as if Savage had already won.
Ash turned the magazines over so he wouldn’t have to look at Savage’s smug, victorious face.
A bath filled with steaming water waited, with fresh clothing piled on stools beside. Ash dragged his bruised body into the hot water and let the pain soak out.
Now what are you gonna do?
Time to review the situation.
The cons. Trapped somewhere in the highest mountain range in the world. Captive of an immortal sorcerer who can travel through Time. Guarded by a demon princess who wants to kill me really, really badly. Not friends with a jackal-demon who wants the same, if not more.
What else?
Oh yes, total and permanent loss of all superhuman
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