The Damned

by L. A. Banks

  When they reached the top floor, Monk Lin placed his hand over Carlos’s chest. “Breathe deeply and slowly,” he said quietly. “We are about to enter the Room of Eternal Life, where the Dalai Lamas studied spiritual scriptures.”

  Carlos nodded, yet wasn’t sure why. But as he entered the room, crests and seals covered a wall of books. He closed his eyes. Books … there was a book. A throne and a book, a book and a throne. He opened his eyes quickly. “What’s in the cellars?”

  The team drew near.

  “The Cave of Scorpions … justice, in those times, was meted out harshly,” Monk Lin explained calmly.

  “They had a cave where they shackled prisoners to a wall and let scorpions sting them to death? Shit,” Rider whispered and looked around. “I suppose the old cultures didn’t mess around if you didn’t pay your taxes.”

  Again, Carlos closed his eyes. He could see it. Had been there—shackled to a wall, thousands of pests coming out of a cavern, covering the floor, scrambling over his body in the Chairman’s Chamber. “I need air,” he said, and began walking.

  The red was too much, the gold was too much, the dragons were too much, the huge palace felt like a giant box around him—he had to get outside and into the sun. He could hear the others behind him, half walking, half running, bumping past other tourists and pilgrims trying to keep up with him. Damali’s footfalls rang out from the group’s. He had to get out of this place. Something horrible had happened. He’d been somewhere—thrones—where?

  Sunlight poured over him, but he kept going. His brisk pace went to a jog, and then a flat-out run. His footfalls landed on a small footbridge toward an island in the center of one of the gardens. A wide, white building with a golden roof was before him, but sudden peace stopped his dash and he stood before the scalloped terrace and again closed his eyes.

  “You have found the oasis of peace just outside the Potala,” Monk Lin said in a mercifully quiet tone. “It was built by the sixth Dalai Lama as his personal retreat. The Lukhang is a temple dedicated to the king of the Naga, water spirits.”

  “The sixth Dalai Lama?” Carlos said, still panting from the run. He didn’t express it to the monk, but the place had sexual energy flowing off it like crazy. Water was definitely his thing, and if it was dedicated to water spirits, hey …

  Monk Lin offered him a droll smile and turned his back to Carlos, holding up his hand for the others in their team not to approach yet. He waited until the group stopped jogging toward them, but stood back, seeming a bit confused.

  “Dalai Lama VI was the only Lama to refuse to take the vows of celibacy, but he was an effective ruler, nonetheless.” Monk Lin kept his back to Carlos. “One can understand why his ashes were, shall we say, not venerated with the others…. This was his pleasure palace, built behind the Potala, much to the chagrin of the monastic orders of the day.”

  Monk Lin allowed a smile as he turned and saw Carlos’s stunned expression. He dropped his voice to an even quieter murmur. “He and his mistress ruled here. He was an artist. I believe a musician. She was a battle strategist and very good with governmental concepts. Together, they accomplished much.” Monk Lin covered his mouth for a moment with two fingers, recovered from a suppressed chuckle, and let his breath out slowly. “Your condition is not unique, nor is your pairing with the female Neteru. Your pairing is the reverse of the couple that built this place, gain insight from that. Do not remain at odds with each other.” He looked away as another quiet smile accosted him. “This was a sacred place … but, uh, our Dalai Lama couldn’t keep his hands off her. The orders turned a blind eye.”

  Carlos folded his arms over his chest, looked away, and laughed. “Yeah, I gathered that. The joint has a serious charge to it.”

  The Monk glanced at him briefly and turned away again, badly concealing a smile. “My suggestion is that you take a few cleansing breaths, assess what this experience has taught you before we return to the group.” The monk offered him a discreet smirk as he glanced down and then sent his gaze toward the blooming trees. “You might need to take a walk to the other side as we tour … to save face.”

  Much improved by the time the group returned to the minivan, Carlos sat in one of the opened sides staring at the ground. He could hear the team talking and laughing, Damali’s voice always distinct in his mind above the others. Yet the experience within the Potala had been profound. Something had literally chased him out of the structure. But it wasn’t something external, it was something internal. He dug his fingernails into his scalp as he sat, waited, listened to the group get closer and closer. Something was inside his head and couldn’t get out. The Potala had images he remembered, but couldn’t place, just like sensations rising off the Lukhang had practically knocked his head back.

  It had been so strong, just the vibration energy of that location. He’d wanted Damali like he hadn’t since … Carlos looked up. Since when? He stood up quickly and almost banged his head on the frame of the minivan. He watched Damali laughing and talking as the team approached. Since when, dammit? When was the last time he’d felt a sizzle, much less a jolt? Oh, shit, oh shit, oh shit, what was wrong with him? An ancient building could give him wood and his woman couldn’t?

  Carlos walked around the van and jumped in next to the driver, panic stricken.

  “Okay,” Damali said. “I don’t know about y’all, but I’m beat and hungry again, and just wanna lie down.”

  “I second the motion!” Rider shouted over the seat. “And a beer wouldn’t hurt.”

  “For real,” Big Mike hollered from the back.

  Chaos was in full effect.

  Damali laughed as Monk Lin smiled. “Seriously, though. It’s late, gonna be dark in a few, we’ve been traveling nonstop for a day and a half, have a lot of catching up to do on sleep and our—”

  “We have to go to the caves,” Carlos said, quietly.

  “No, dude! I’m maxed out. No more side trips, detours what-the-hell-ever!” Rider was practically out of his seat, with Jose and J.L. holding his arms.

  “Absolutely,” Shabazz argued. “We don’t do caves with no ammo at sunset, not on zero-freaking-sleep, when there’s no clear and present danger. Brother, that’s when you catch up, recharge your batteries, and—”

  “That’s what I need to do. Recharge my battery. Something’s draining energy from me, but I don’t know what it is.” Carlos’s tone was flat, calm, and contained no judgment.

  Damali leaned forward and touched his shoulder. “You all right?”

  “Why didn’t you say so,” Rider grumbled. “Fine.” he said on a hard exhale, pulling his fingers through his hair hard. “To the caves.”

  The minivan lumbered down Mirik Lam south from Lhasa Fandian and then struggled against a dirt road along the base of a hill that Monk Lin said was called, the Chakpo-Ri, which also faced the Potala in the distance.

  “We are at Chogyel Zimuki, also known as Dragla Lugug,” Monk Lin said, curiously appraising Carlos as he exited the vehicle. “Go up the steps two stories beyond the gate to the monastic temple. On the second floor is the inner sanctum and the entrance to the prayer cave.” He bowed toward Carlos and Damali, signaling that the others might consider staying with the van.

  “But, dude, did you say something about Dracula or did I miss something?” Rider said, stroking his chest where his gun holster normally crossed.

  No,” Monk Lin said with a patient smile. “I said, Dragla Lugug.”

  “It’s almost dark, man,” Shabazz said, his tone annoyed and worried. He glanced at Big Mike and Marlene for confirmation as the team closed ranks around the monk.

  “It’s something I’ve gotta do,” Carlos said, looking at Damali. “Second sight is down—I could use a good seer and somebody good with a blade.”

  Shabazz pulled the new sword out of the van and offered it to Damali, but she declined it. He didn’t put it back in the vehicle, but held it in readiness, just in case she changed her mind.

  “I’m cool,” s
he told Shabazz. Something innate made her know that Carlos needed to again feel like he was the weapon. If she took anything with her more lethal than a dagger, it might undermine that. She turned her focus toward him as she patted her bootleg. “I gotchure back. Let’s do this.”

  They entered the spherical cavern and glanced around. Just beyond the grotto-style, two-story monastery, it was as though they’d again stepped into another dimension. A huge center column was inscribed with unreadable etchings, but Damali allowed her fingers to rove over the seventh-century art that told a story she couldn’t comprehend in seventy-one intricately carved sculptures.

  “This is very cool and very eerie,” she whispered as she unsheathed her blade, just to be on the safe side. She kept alert as she quietly searched for anything that could hold angel tears.

  But as in the temples they’d visited earlier, nothing was registering. There was also the not-so-small problem of what to do if she found them with Carlos or anyone else there to witness the discovery. She hated keeping secrets from him; it made her sad to have to do that. This was her man, her partner, and they were supposed to be one.

  Damali turned her attention toward the only source of illumination, hoping the tiny lights might provide answers. Small butter lamps lit the interior, their smoky essence filtering up to cover the ceiling in soot.

  She glanced at Carlos, watching him walk around the miniature prayer altar, and she studied his gaze as he took in the hundreds of religious markings that covered the walls.

  “What are you sensing?” she murmured, coming close to him.

  “Nothing I should be feeling or picking up from a monastic temple,” he said with a half smile. “But I have to remember not to defile the Neteru.”

  For a moment, she didn’t move or speak. A deep, pungent, sensual aroma began to fill the unventilated space around her, making her slightly heady. “Who told you something like that?” she whispered, her breath coming out huskier than was warranted.

  “That’s just the thing, D,” he said quietly, his gaze still raking the walls as she stepped in closer to him. “I can’t remember. I just know that I’m not supposed to.”

  “Who got that crazy mess up in your head,” she said, smiling, closing off the space between them. She inhaled deeply and allowed her nose to drag along his shoulder. “Whew, man … is that what’s been bothering you lately?”

  He shook his head and stepped away from her, his eyes on the cave walls. “There’s an energy here,” he whispered. “Male.”

  Damali straightened and went on guard. “Friend or foe?” Her eyes darted around the dimly lit enclosure.

  “That would depend on your perspective,” an elderly voice said from behind the column.

  Carlos and Damali whirred around and stood in battle readiness as a small, gnomelike man in a brown robe stepped from behind the column. His face was drawn with wrinkles, his hair white and long, fusing with his mustache and beard to flow down the front of his dark brown habit. His eyes were all white, covered in thick, bluish cataracts. His hands were concealed within the deep folds of his sleeves and he extracted them slowly to press them together and bow.

  “I am Zang Ho. You seek the wisdom of the Naksong?”

  Damali and Carlos didn’t immediately speak, temporarily rendered mute by the surprise.

  “Well, well, speak. Be quick. Time is of the essence,” the tiny man said with impatience. He swept up to them, seeming oblivious of their size and strength, or the fact that Damali was packing a blade. “I’ve waited a very long time for you two—and you both are incorrigible.” He swept away again and walked around the column with his hands behind his back, and then suddenly rushed up to Carlos, pointed a crooked finger at him and smiled a toothless grin. “Ahhh …” he said, inhaling sharply. “The apexing one is here.” He spun to face Damali with blind eyes. “The female, too. Humph. Put away the blade,” he ordered. “I detest the smell of metal.”

  Carlos and Damali simply stared at each other for a moment.

  “Uh, sir,” Damali said, vastly amused by this droll little man who stood all of four feet ten inches tall, if a hair. “Uhmmm … you are the Naksong, we take it?”

  He waved at her to dismiss the query. “You are almost ready, but him … my, my, my so much work to do and so little time.”

  “Sir, what do I have to do?” Carlos said as humbly as possible. “I came to learn from a master, because we have a serious mission at hand.”

  “You were a master!” the old man shouted, becoming indignant. “This is the point,” he said, placing a bony finger against his temple. “A general. A master strategist. What is wrong with your mind?” He walked away, swishing his robes against the dirt floor and stirring plumes of dust as he strode around in agitation. “I don’t have time for silly questions, young man. Link to her energy!” He folded his arms over his chest and pouted, and then began twirling the end of his long beard between two fingers, waiting.

  “We’re out of sync,” Damali hedged, confused but swallowing a smile. “We’re supposed to be looking for some serious demon energy, the Chairman’s lair, but, uh, Monk Lin has been taking us sightseeing.”

  “Integrate yourself,” the Naksong said, snapping his fingers. “You must conquer that which is within by using what is within. Then to conquer the external is moot, unless you have achieved that.” He walked away. “I am done for the evening.”

  “Wait, wait, wait, hold up,” Damali said, moving to block the elderly man’s exit. “We did not fly umpteen hours and get snagged by government forces, get loaded down with artillery, to hear ‘integrate yourself,’ and go home. Be serious, sir—or at least have a heart.”

  The old man frowned and turned to address Carlos, tilting his head as he listened for his position in the room. “Feisty. I can see your hesitation.”

  “Listen,” Carlos said, losing patience. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and—”

  “Then the problem is worse than I thought,” the old man fussed, cutting off Carlos’s comment. He again began to pace in a circle, muttering to himself, his voice rising and dipping in fits and starts. “In the land of the Arc of the Covenant, did you not receive the tools of the Neteru?” He held up his hand to prevent an answer. “Yes.” He began walking again. “In the land of the Thunderbird, did you not receive the mission?” Again he held up his hand as Carlos and Damali glanced at each other. “Yes.” He looked up with dead eyes and folded his arms over his bony chest. “But you forgot. Humph! Young people.” He began his dizzying circle again. “We are in trouble,” he said to the vaulted ceiling. “We are in very, very big trouble if we depend on them.” He jerked his head to stare blindly at Carlos and Damali. “Sync up and meet me in the mountains tomorrow. I suppose I will have to teach.”

  Before Damali or Carlos could open their mouths, he vanished in a puff of white smoke.

  “Okay, now that was deep,” she said, going to the spot where the little man had been. She stomped on the ground. “Now what do we tell the team?”

  “Your visit was fruitful?” Monk Lin asked, rushing up the cave temple stairs before Carlos and Damali descended them.

  The group was held in thrall as Carlos and Damali related the bizarre events inside the cave, but Monk Lin whirred around and clapped his hands.

  “You have met the Naksong. He has agreed to teach. This is a divine omen. Tomorrow, we set out at dawn to find the nomads, who will point us to the oracle. She will be able to coax him to us and our lessons begin.”

  Glances passed around the group as they all got back into the vehicle.

  “I just have one question,” Rider said flatly, staring out the window. “Why do we always have to do things the hard way, people? Just answer me that, gang, and I won’t say another word for the rest of this trip!”

  Still mystified, Damali stood before the window in the tight confines of the barren room, watching the setting sun paint the mountains in the distance pink and gold. Where were the tears!

  Carlo
s’s arms enfolded her as he looked at the scene over her shoulder, resting his chin on it.

  “I’m sorry that I’m such a slow learner,” he murmured. “D, I swear, it’s like something is in my head that can’t get out. Things I should remember by instinct just ain’t there anymore.”

  She covered his hands with hers as he held her, keeping her back toward him as the shared the spectacular view of the Tibetan sky.

  “It’s not your fault,” she said quietly. “Something traumatic happened, and I can feel it just under the surface of your skin. But what troubles me is that I can’t pick it up, either. There’s a black wall there. Maybe it’s just because you went full vamp before, so your Neteru transition is a little slower than …”

  “I know,” he said with a weary sigh. “When we went to the first temple, I felt detached, nothing, as though something was trying to reach me, but couldn’t get in.”

  She turned and stared at him. “A lot of blood was shed there. That temple was desecrated. Maybe you were shielding your mind from that?”

  He nodded and moved a stray lock behind her ear. “I don’t want to focus on images like that anymore.”

  “But you can’t turn a blind eye to it,” she argued gently. “Close your eyes, try to see what was there at Jokhang. Maybe it will offer a clue?”

  He nodded, and slowly obliged her, tuning his mind to the images of the first temple. Soon his breathing deepened and his head dropped against her shoulder. The smell of blood filled his nose, and he tensed.

  “Stay with it,” she murmured. “I’ll be with you in the vision.”

  Slowly, he forced himself to relax and attempted to retrace his mental steps through the intricate maze of the sanctuary. He could feel perspiration beginning to seep out of his pores as the pungent scents became nearly intoxicating, covered his face, slid up his nose, and made him weave against her.