by Guy d'Armen
“Then it will be easy to get him to decamp,” said Ardan.
Grabbing a big rock, the young man threw it towards the hunter. Then, he stood up to his full height.
The hunter uttered a scream of pure terror and ran away, as fast as his legs could carry him.
Ardan laughed.
“After so many dark events, it’s good to enjoy a small moment of hilarity,” he confessed.
They searched the hunter’s camp and found a rifle, a lighter and some supplies, which, in their current condition, were difficult for them to use.
As dawn approached, Suleyma, who had nimbler fingers, managed to get the lighter to work and built a fire. Thanks to the sheer abundance of birds in the area, they were able to enjoy a hearty breakfast.
“Where are we going?” asked the young woman.
“South. Last time, I tried north, but got nowhere. The Russians were far too hostile to foreigners. I think we may have more luck with the Chinese.”
“But what about our size? We’re... monsters!”
“Yes,” sighed Ardan. “But don’t despair. Kyzyl Kaya mentioned other scientists with whom he corresponded. A Professor Tornada and a man called Pere Teston. I’ve heard of Tornada. If I can reach my father, perhaps he can locate either one of them and hope they will be able to revert us to human size.”
After they had regained their energy, they felt ready to face the road ahead.
“We must redouble our vigilance,” said Ardan. “I’m gambling that the water that filled the gymnasium and the cages must have hid our escape, but soon, they will pump it out and discover that our bodies are missing. So we don’t have a lot of time to get as far away from here as possible... Because, even if Kyzyl Kaya can no longer count on his giants to go after us, who knows what other tricks that devil of a man has in store...”
They walked with great energy until noon, encountering no one on their way, and stopped for lunch. Unlike the forests of the northern route, the landscape they were traversing was mostly a steppe made up of rocky hills with sparse vegetation.
During the afternoon, they heard the sound of horses in the distance. The land they were crossing was littered with enormous boulders and volcanic rocks, so, despite their size, they were able to hide to see what was happening.
A few minutes later, they saw a squadron of a dozen Mongol warriors ride by, all dressed in black leather and bearing weapons. In the center of it was a cart, pulled by two horses and manned by two more men; it was carrying a bamboo cage inside which as an elderly blue-robed lama.
Wisdom would have been to let them go by and remain hidden, but Ardan felt a great deal of respect for the blue-robed lamas who were reputed to be amongst the wisest men in China.
“We can’t leave that lama in the hands of these men,” said Ardan to his companion. “Follow me and do as I do.”
Stepping out from behind the shelter of the rocks, Ardan roared some curses in what he hoped was half decent Kanghai, the language from the tribe of Abuk Khan.
What he hoped he was saying was: “Beware, Infidels! The Great Khan has returned! And we, his long dead warriors, have awakened! All will die who do not submit to the Great Khan!”
And since action is always more convincing than mere words, he grabbed a couple of smaller boulders and threw them right across the path of the Mongols, whose horses reared back in terror, unseating several men.
Suleyma, too, grabbed and tossed a few boulders, increasing the panic amongst the Mongols.
Those who could still flee on horseback did so, while the others ran after their horses and, after a somewhat hilarious chase, managed to get back in their saddles and flee.
Left in the steppe, utterly abandoned, was the cart with the blue-robed lama caged inside. He had watched the scene with a glint of amusement in his eyes.
With his powerful hands, Ardan broke the lock and released the holy man.
“Thank you,” said the lama. “I am Jalue, tulku 5 of the lamasery of the Five Towers, located east of here.”
Ardan responded with the ritual greeting in Tibetan language, with the verbosity expected of him when addressing an elderly lama, and adding the customary la after his name as a mark of respect.
Jalue smiled benevolently.
“I can see that neither of you are warriors of Abuk Khan,” he said. “All men are indeed brothers, but how did you manage to grow to that size that separates you from the rest of humankind?”
Ardan gave him a short version of their adventures, ending with their desire to send a message to his father—or the French authorities.
“I might have been able to help you,” said Jalue. “There is in my lamasery a large violet stone—not an amethyst, but something resembling it—that is said to come from the Ancients, who once ruled this part of the world. And it has strange, curative powers.”
Ardan remembered the strange violet light that Kyzyl Kaya had used on the nearly dead Mandarins in the early days of his captivity, and wondered if that might not indeed hold the key to countering the effects of the orange light that had made them grow to their unnatural size.
“It might indeed be what we seek,” he said.
“Unfortunately,” said Jalue, “the Five Towers have been seized by a dugpa. It was his servants whom you chased away. They were taking me to one of their dark citadels, deep inside the Gobi desert.”
“What are dugpas?” asked Ardan.
“They’re those who follow the left hand path. Many are fallen. They are cold and red, and wear black robes. Some serve Natas, or Dorje, or Ming... Others reside in the Agarthi where dwell the asuras and the tchutgour.6 The one who seized my lamasery is named Dvagpo.”
Ardan remembered the strange conclave of black-robed lamas that had taken place in Kyzyl Kaya’s underground lair, and which the Red Wizard had attended. No doubt, they were dugpas—and accomplices of the Comte de Bertheville.
The plot thickened, but it now seemed obvious that fate had placed him across Jalue’s path to help free the lamasery from evil—and possibly find a cure for their monstrous affliction.
“We will go with you to the Five Towers and defeat the dugpa,” proposed Ardan.
“In order to do so, you must first receive the blessing of the one who is the living Fo Tu Deng.7 Without it, you will be disarmed against the dugpa’s evil will. I cannot help you. Only the Living Fo can shield you from the dugpa.”
“Very well. Where does the Living Fo reside?”
“He is presently in the village of Uliastai. You will receive the blessing during the butter lamp festival which will take place two nights from now, when the Moon is full.”
“And how far is this village?”
“One hundred and twenty thousand steps from here.”
“Which means barely twenty thousand for us,” smiled Ardan. “And I have an idea...”
The young man bent down over the cart and broke the main axle. Then, he took the bamboo cage and refashioned it into a kind of basket which he hung in the middle of the axle.
He invited Jalue to sit in the basket, saying:
“This is a rather unusual and improvised litter, Blessed One, but it will get you to destination much faster.”
He then gestured to Suleyma to grab one of the axles while he grabbed the other, and, after getting directions from the lama, they set off for Uliastai.
CHAPTER XXI
The Blessing
Carrying Jalue in his improvised litter between them, Ardan and Suleyma arrived at Uliastai just before sunset.
There was a large crowd of pilgrims who were heading towards the village to attend the butter lamp festival.
Everyone’s first reaction at the sight of the two giants was one of fear, but fortunately Jalue was there to reassure the locals in a clear, resonant voice.
“Do not fear, my children,” he said. “The giants are our friends. They are from the lost land of Uttarakuru, where they live in peace and commerce with the gods. They have come at my behest to receive the bl
essing of the Living Fo and partake in the festival.”
The crowd’s fear then quickly turned into smiles, and the relieved pilgrims approached them and gave them small cakes and other little tokens of friendship.
Ardan thanked the fates again for having brought them into contact with the elderly lama. Not only might he provide a cure for their condition, but he was proving to be a most useful ally.
As they entered the city, they came across a most singular scene.
About thirty Tartars were surrounding a woman and making dreadful, discordant noise with cymbals and trumpets.
“What are they doing?” asked Ardan.
“This woman has the hiccups,” explained Jalue. “They think she is possessed by a tchutgour and they are trying to make the evil spirit go away.”
Ardan smiled, but his smile quickly turned to worry as the Tartars saw them, and started to call them tchutgours too. Most of them were armed, and this had the potential of turning ugly.
Fortunately, Jalue had foreseen the problem. He gestured to Ardan to put him down and, once on the ground, stopped the advancing Tartars with his outstretched arms.
“Stop!” he shouted. “These two are not tchutgours, but demigods from Uttarakuru, and they have more power over demons that all your cymbals and trumpets!”
The Tartars recognized the lama’s blue robe and respected the old man’s wisdom. Still, a few were muttering under their breath.
“And I shall prove it!” added Jalue. “We shall stay here and watch you try to exorcise this poor woman! But if you fail, my companions will surely succeed, because of their god-given powers!”
The Tartars agreed and started their racket again, but this time, they also brought a straw man—or rather, a straw woman—dressed with a few garments taken from the afflicted woman.
Jalue whispered to Ardan that the noise was supposed to drive the tchutgour away and into the straw woman; they then would set fire to it in order to destroy the demon.
After five more minutes spent dancing in a hellish saraband around the “patient”, making enough noise to wake the dead, the Tartars assumed that the demon had found refuge inside the straw woman and set fire to it. The scarecrow was quickly reduced to ashes.
“Now the tchutgour is gone,” said the Tartar who appeared to be the leader of the crowd. “He has been destroyed,” he added confidently.
Unfortunately, just as he uttered these words, the woman hiccupped again, worse than before.
That Tartars looked dejected and turned to Jalue, begging for his help.
“Please help us, O mighty lama!”
“Not I!” replied Jalue. “Now you will see the power of my friends!”
Ardan was not entirely confident that could meet this challenge, but it was necessary to succeed if they were to gain the trust and the support of the locals.
He remembered an old wives’ remedy for hiccups and he was ideally placed to effect it.
He grabbed the woman in his arms and, with all his strength, threw her high in the air, making sure to catch her again as she went down. Then he delicately set her back onto the ground.
The poor woman was so scared that she first uttered a piercing scream—but then, discovered that her hiccups were gone!
She took an immense delight in telling all the Tartars, who suddenly praised Ardan’s “godliness” and Jalue’s immense wisdom, as if they were beloved long-lost relatives They even insisted on providing them with an escort into town.
By then, night had fallen. The festival goers, all carrying small lamps burning yak butter, were gathering near the temple located in the heart of the town, looking like myriad points of light.
The temple itself was a large building surrounded by columns. Outside, there was a Buddhist prayer wheel, flanked by two dragons. Inside, one could admire a gold statue of the Buddha. It consisted of a number of assembly halls, decorated in the ancient style of Tibet, with plenty of curtains and drapes, which seemed to constantly change colors as the wind blew through them.
“This is where you will receive the blessing of the Living Fo,” said Jalue.
They went into a smaller “chapel” which was empty, except for a small altar in the shape of an inverted cone. In front of it was a throne made of jade and gold. Before it were two chairs, also gold in color.
Strangely enough, it looked as if the chairs had been made for giants, as they were large enough to accommodate the two newcomers.
Ardan wondered briefly if there was something true, after all, to the legends of giants who had once roamed this part of the world.
Jalue invited the young man and his companion to sit in the chairs. He them grabbed a conch shell and blew into it four times, in the direction of each of the compass points.
The temple, which had been mildly noisy until now, suddenly fell totally silent.
“The Living Fo will now come and administer the Blessing,” whispered the old lama.
“Should we do anything?” inquired Ardan.
“No. Just sit there, and open your mind.”
Behind them, a small crowd of pilgrims had gathered. Candles were lit and everyone waited and bowed their heads slightly as a rhythmic chanting began.
Then, a young man dressed in a simple saffron robe entered, followed by two older monks. Ardan thought that the Living Fo was surprisingly young, but there was a well of wisdom in his eyes that betrayed the true age of his soul.
The monks held white ribbons in between their hands, wrapped around candles that dripped wax into bowls of holy water.
The Living Fo sat on the jade and gold throne while the monks stood by his side, after having placed their candles and bowls onto the altar.
The chanting continued for ten minutes, then stopped.
During that time, Ardan locked eyes with the Living Fo.
And then, he felt something in his mind—not like the unwanted push of a foreign mind’s invasion, but rather like the gentle caress of a friend. He suddenly gained a deep sense of comfort and felicity, as if new energy was being poured into his body.
The young doctor knew that a “psychic shield” was an energy construct that formed around the physical body, and he guessed that this was exactly what the Living Fo was doing to him—helping him erect such a shield to protect both his physical and mental bodies, by either absorbing or reflecting the negative psychic energies the dugpa would use against him.
The Living Fo repeated the process with Suleyma, who appeared to be less aware than Ardan of what was being done to her.
Then, without having exchanged word with the two travelers, the Living Fo stood up and left the room.
The chanting began again. The two monks, who had stayed behind, offered the white ribbons to Ardan and Suleyma, after sprinkling the two of them with the holy water.
“What now?” asked Ardan.
“Now, we rest,” replied Jalue. “I will show you to your rooms. Tomorrow, we will gather a few chelas 8 and we shall return to the lamasery of the Five Towers, where we shall do battle with the dugpa and his men.
CHAPTER XXII
Assault on the Five Towers
Ardan and Suleyma awoke at daybreak.
When they came out of the temple, they found that Jalue had already gathered a squadron of a dozen servants and allies, ready to fight to reclaim the lamasery, fortified in the certainty of their victory by what they had heard about the wondrous powers of the two giants from Uttarakuru.
It took four days of arduous walking to reach the lamasery of the Five Towers which sat on a high plateau on the foothills of the Khangai Mountains. Travel during the winter was difficult, but fortunately, spring had come early that year and the road was passable.
On the morning of the fourth day, Ardan at last saw the lamasery in the far distance. It was built of red bricks, and featured the five squat towers that had given it its name. The central temple lay behind tall crenellated walls.
More disturbingly, he noticed immediately that the place was surrounded by
a small army of Chinese soldiers.
He reported this to Jalue.
“I feared as much,” said the elderly lama. “When I was taken prisoner, it was clear to me that Dvagpo had powerful Chinese allies—ruthless warlords who have been dreaming of conquering this region. They probably sent reinforcements after I was taken away. They’re not regular soldiers; they’re bandits and looters who’d sell their own mothers for a root of gin-seng!”
Ardan knew that Uliastai was a major center of the caravan trade, connected with Urga in the east, Hovd in the west, Barkol and other points in Xinjiang in the southwest, and Hohhot in the southeast, and was indeed a prize target. And what better place to launch an attack than the Five Towers...
He suggested that perhaps they should stop and devise a plan, but Jalue and his followers were moved by such fervor that they refused to hear it and only pressed on.
As they approached, Ardan saw that the bandits’ weapons were mostly bows and arrows. However, they did have two small military cannons, mounted on wheels, probably stolen from the regular Chinese army. Their numbers were no more than fifty—but still more than enough to defeat Ardan and his allies.
They stopped at a respectable distance. Then Ardan saw a man, dressed in black, come out of the lamasery and walk towards them.
“It is Dvagpo,” said Jalue. “The accursed dugpa comes in the belief that he can use his evil powers to influence you and turn you against us, but he will be sorely disappointed.”
“What about you?” asked Ardan.
“The dugpa is powerless against one who wears the blue robe and has studied at the feet of the Masters of Sham-bah-la. But now, silence! Here he comes.”
Dvagpo was a tall, strong man with long black hair that fell over his shoulders. His face had something cat-like about it, with large yellow eyes that blinked but rarely, and a silky black beard and mustache. He was dressed all in black, and seemed supremely at ease. He appeared to bear no weapons.
