Chapter Eleven
There is a blade hovering over his heart, ready to pry it from his ribs like a trophy, but it’s her fear that he feels, a bolt of lightning to his chest, that terrifies him. He told her to run. Why didn’t she just run?
PHUKTAL GOMPA, ZANSKAR VALLEY
There is someone new in the temple.
Anna only knows because the children are abuzz about it.
They whisper amongst each other, mouths stretched in grins so wide Anna can see their ears perking with the strength of it.
She’s curious, of course. The temple receives few visitors, and the ones they do receive are usually expected: monks journeying from other temples, the usual travelers coming to give donations.
Anna can tell this is different. The children are too excited, too enamored, for it to be anything other than unexpected.
Then she catches snippets of their conversation.
“He’s so tall!” one says. “His skin is like the ink Master Kulo favors,” says another.
Anna feels the tug of recognition, of hope, in her stomach.
She has every reason to believe it’s a coincidence, that it’s just her heart hoping, but she scans the temple grounds just the same.
Chasing that little thread of hope, she almost gives it up as a silly wish when she sees him.
Across the courtyard, talking with Master Tenzing, is Silas.
Anna stares, her smile growing as she watches her old friend’s cheeks dimple with laughter. He towers over the old master by a foot at least, but the height difference is even more pronounced by the way Master Tenzing’s spine curves over his cane.
As if feeling her gaze, Silas’ head turns, eyes catching hers. He raises his hand in greeting. The smile he gives her is bright enough to chase away the darkest of shadows.
She runs to him, heart skipping in her chest. Silas folds her into a hug once she reaches him, his tall frame dwarfing her small one. “It is good to see you, my friend.”
“You as well.” She hugs him back, an appreciative squeeze, before pulling away. Anna swallows, preparing her heart for the possibility of receiving an answer that could break it. “Did Jiro…?” She trails off, unable to finish the question. Silas understands it anyway.
“He’s safe. We made it to Chicago with no troubles. It wasn’t until the path didn’t reopen, that I realized something was wrong.” Grief clouds his gaze, softening his strong brow. “Eira will be missed.”
Anna’s chest goes tight, heart stuttering painfully behind her ribs. “Yes,” she agrees. “Very much so.”
Silas looks over her shoulder, a subtle frown pulling at his mouth when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. When his gaze returns to her, his voice dips low. “How is Khiran faring?”
Anna shifts, aware of the eyes on them. The children in particular seem entirely too curious.
She can see their faces peeking from behind the stone terraced roof above them.
“As well as expected,” she answers, sending Kipu a pointed look and shaking her head when he giggles and waves in response.
Anna is finding it increasingly hard to smother the urge to smile back at his antics. “Why don’t we talk over tea?”
Silas’ mouth curls, his eyes straying to the youthful faces above them. “Tea would be lovely.”
Anna places a teapot filled with water and spices over the fire so the chai can brew while they speak, the smell of cloves and cardamom warming the air. Folding her legs, she sits on the rug across from him.
His eyes are honey soft, sweet and warm in ways that remind her how much she missed the gentle companionship they share. “You look well, my friend.”
Her answering smile is as honest as her words. “I am.”
He glances around the small room pointedly, a thread of concern tightening his mouth. “And Khiran? I expected him to be at your side. “
“Oh, he’s helping some of the farmhands down the mountain. He should be home soon.”
Silas’ brow ticks, a subtle sign of skepticism. “Khiran?”
Anna understands. She had some doubts about how he would handle this part of mortal life. Labor, physical or otherwise, is not something he would have subjected himself to in the past. “It’s been an adjustment for him.”
“I am sure,” Silas murmurs.
She hears the low bubble of water, the telltale current of steam moments before the whistle, and stands. She takes a moment to add milk to the kettle, letting it come back to a boil and simmer before straining it into two cups. She offers one to Silas before returning to her seat across from him.
“Thank you.” He admires the glazing of the ceramic before taking a sip. The cup looks much smaller in his hand. “Cassius told me Khiran’s plan. To deny his magic and hide as a mortal. To be truthful, I wasn’t sure I believed him capable of it until now.”
“Then you don’t give him enough credit,” Anna says, looking down at the tea in her hands and admiring the way the steam curls.
“He would deny himself of every good thing this world has to offer if it meant keeping me close and keeping me safe. Just as I would do the same for him.” A gentle smile curls her lips, and she lifts her chin to meet Silas’ stare.
“It was nice to meet Cassius—to know that you have someone who loves you so deeply. I’m happy for you. ”
Silas returns it, cheek dimpling and eyes softening. “We are so very different. It felt strange at first, but we fit where it matters.”
She thinks of the swamps of Louisiana—of the meager meals they shared and the simplicity in which they lived.
It is a pale comparison to the marbled halls and spread of delicacies that lined Cassius’ table.
She sobers, mind drifting to the last conversation they had with the blonde. “He tried to convince Khiran to fight.”
Silas sighs, the sound so deep and tired Anna can nearly feel the weight of it. “So he’s told me. I must apologize. I’m certain the conversation was held with much more animosity than what was admitted to me.”
“There was a lot of yelling back and forth,” Anna admits, the smallest of smiles kissing the corner of her lips. “I’m afraid Khiran wasn’t on his best behavior, either.”
He gives a somber hum of understanding. “They have a history.”
“So I’ve heard,” she says, an almost echo of his words.
“Have you?” Silas murmurs, his head tilting in thought as he studies her. “He tells you more now.” An observation, not a question. Anna appreciates how much he sees her. How much he cares.
“He does.”
“I am glad. The lives we lead are fuller, brighter, when we can share them completely.”
Anna agrees, wholly and without question. “What do you think of it, Silas? Cassius’ wish to fight?”
“I think it’s as reckless as it is inevitable, but it is my greatest wish that the day the war starts is far in the future.”
Anna nods. In her stomach, the truth of it coils and twists like the desperate thrashing of a viper with its head pinned, its fangs made useless. Helpless, but still fighting. “I feel the same.”
A moment of silence. Anna gathers her courage to ask the question that’s been haunting her.
“Tell me, what is happening in the world? We’re so isolated here, I’m afraid most of our news is limited to what the merchants bring with their wares.
” She frowns, fingers twisting in her lap.
“There have been troubling stories about the state of China.”
It’s an understatement. Tensions between Tibet and the People’s Republic of China had been high since they arrived at the monastery.
An uprising in the capital city of Lhasa had erupted when fears of the Dalai Lama being arrested by the Chinese government spurred protests.
It ended with clashes escalating into violence, thousands of Tibetans dead, and the fourteenth Dalai Lama escaping before Lhasa was retaken.
Lately, she’s been hearing whispers about the poor state of those within China’s borders.
Silas’ expression darkens. “I’m afraid they’re likely true.
The famine the citizens are enduring is as vast as it is cruel.
I’ve been trying to shepherd those I can, but without Eira…
” His voice trails off, an old pain shadowing his expression.
Anna can feel the echo of it blooming over her chest like a cage of thorns.
“I’m afraid my efforts do not go as far as they once did. ”
Anna’s gaze travels to the window, noting the way the colors of the sky warm into hues of pinks and oranges.
“Back home, there were nights I felt so guilty, I stayed awake with the weight of it on my chest. No matter how many times Khiran assured me that I deserved to rest—that I wasn’t responsible for the lives lost.”
Silas looks at her, the depths of his gaze as ancient as he is. “Khiran is right.”
“Yes, but knowing it never erased the guilt.” She faces him, her lips turned in a somber shadow of a smile. “I suppose what I’m saying is that I expect nothing we do will ever feel like enough.”
“You’re wise to understand it. It takes strength to witness horrors for as long as we have and feel anything but apathy at the end of it. In this, my friend, your strength outshines us all.”
Anna laughs, the sound trembling and weak, as she shakes her head. “I’m younger. I’ve seen less. Endured less.”
“You’re wrong,” he murmurs, bringing his cup back to his lips. “But I can forgive you for not seeing how brightly you shine.”
It’s more than two years later when Silas returns.
Spring is nearly upon them, the air still cold but the snow only dusting the valley like powdered sugar.
She’s hanging bits of laundry in front of the communal fire, a few of the children play a game of Sho behind her.
Kipu has already roped her into agreeing to play a game or two once she finishes.
The six-year-old has become increasingly aware of how easy she is to charm with a dimpled smile and sweet words.