Warm breath on my face, scented with vanilla and something richer, chocolatey, underneath. Fur enclosed me. I was carried, cradled in this creature’s arms, while it loped over the earth. I had the sensation we were skimming through the air, swooping like a couple of overgrown swallows. I could see nothing beyond the thing’s arms and the heavens awash with opal light. Abruptly, the motion stopped and it lowered me on to the ground. I was lying on a yielding surface. A bank of leaves. I sank into the softness, looking straight up into the sky.
The hard sun dazzled my eyes after the tunnel. I realized I had found it strangely soothing down there inside the mountain. Darkness had comforted me; lifting a burden of worry and decisions from my head. Wherever I was now, here there was no escape from the light.
“Are you a yeti?” I asked.
The thing laughed. It had a beautiful, warm voice. “No, I am not a yeti,” it said.
“What are you then?”
“I am a Guardian.”
I struggled to sit up. Above me the sun was blazing. It was different somehow, flat like a saucer, a fiercer, closer orb than I was used to. It was merciless; shadow melted away, leaving nothing but hard edges and an awful clarity.
“Am I on earth?” I asked the strange animal.
It wriggled in answer. With one sinuous movement the thing shrugged off the hairy pelt. Inside the coat that had covered her from the top of her head to the tips of her fingers and toes was a woman. With mouth and nose and, well, everything. As human as you or me. A woman, with a soft face, shiny black eyes and short brown hair, cropped as close to her head as a soldier’s or a monk’s. I could not say she was young or old, beautiful or not; even Tibetan, Indian or English. It puzzled me that she had carried me with such ease, for her hands were small and fine-boned, not the large, soft paws I had felt. She had, though, a very calm countenance and now she gently inclined her head.
“This is Shambala?”
“Some call it that.”
I looked around, ready for wonders. You may think me foolish, but I expected something marvelous. Leprechauns, unicorns whiter than snow, perhaps a rainbow bridge arching into the heavens. At the very least a shimmering ice city, rising from the crystal mountains. I do not know quite what my fancies were, but I was ready for anything.
Except what I saw: a small, rather humdrum Tibetan village. The houses were built of irregular sized stones, their roofs weighted down, as we had seen in the garrison, with rocks. There were several of these clustered together, behind them was an orchard, and snaking through the village, a burbling stream. It was an oasis of green, of plants and flowers and trees, flitting with small humming birds and the thrum of bees and other insects. I spied a mynah and a hoopoe, a juniper bush in the shadow of gently waving willow. Dark-blushed cherry trees, a grove of sugar cane. It was pretty enough. Why then was there a knot of discontent inside me? Had I come so far, through snow and ice, under shadow of death for this? Peaceful and charming, and just a little bit ordinary?
Apart from the crystal peaks rising behind the meadows, ringing it in a protective barrier of ice, I could have found a dozen villages near my Oxford home a little like this. Some of the windows in the houses were cracked, the stonework irregular, even shabby.
Shabby? Could Paradise really be shabby?
Disappointment must have shown in my voice for the lady answered with a smile.
“It is what you see.” Still smiling, she asked in that same beautiful voice. “You have something for me?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“It is there,” she pointed at my heart. “Our map.”
Rage bubbled up inside me. Yongden had stolen it, now this lady. But it was my talisman. My map was melded to me, had become as much a part of Kit as the scar on my face, my irregular breath and my heart which insisted on beating with such agitation.
“It’s my map.”
“No, Kit, it belongs here.”
“No. It’s mine.”
“Please.”
It was agonizing, but her outstretched hand was a force I couldn’t resist. She had taken over my own muscles, bent my will to hers, as I delved into my pocket and felt the rolled-up piece of parchment. Slowly I took it out and handed it unwillingly to the lady. “What is your name?”
“Maya,” she answered.
“Maya,” I rolled the unfamiliar syllables around on my tongue. “Can I have my map back, Maya?”
She shook her head. “No. This map should have never left this place.”
“But it’s useless to you. Just a piece of paper.” A wheedling note entered my voice. “I never found Abominable Cave or Javelin Rock. Or anything on it.”
“Sometimes we do not know what we have found.”
“Pardon?”
“Look at it this way. This map brought you here. This is somewhere that doesn’t want to be found.”
Everything she said was a riddle. “What do you mean the map brought me here? Yongden brought me here.”
“The map showed him the way.”
“And this place is secret?”
“We are content not to be known.” Maya leaned down and offered me her hand to stand up and I noticed that she was wearing simple cotton robes of a dark orange color.
“Come.” She moved away, light-footed, robes swishing. I stared after her and I must confess I didn’t understand. Why was I here? What made this place so special?
“Why must I follow you?” I called out.
She turned and flicked me a glance. I couldn’t tell whether it was impatience or amusement in her eyes: “Your friends are waiting for you.”
“Rachel and Waldo and Isaac!” I forgot the anger at Maya, which had been building up in me. So Yongden must have been wrong. My friends hadn’t turned back for India. Joy surged through me, as I ran after her.