Kadj'el (The As'mirin Book 1)

by Ada Haynes

  “But, surely, Kalem could put some mikes there as well? At the woman’s place and at her work?”

  “Nope. Well, to be more correct, Kalem managed to place a few of them. But they were discovered faster than anyone would have expected. Kalem is a bit sensitive on that particular point, by the way. Don’t mention it.”

  Lyrian showed a hint of a smile for the first time since they started discussing. “Did Alyasini start her work with Maire Kincaid?”

  “No. I argue with her about it, but she does not want to see Maire Kincaid anymore. I find it a pity. But I suppose she’ll find another job eventually.”

  Lyrian thought for a moment. “So, in short, we have nothing. Yet.”

  Ekbeth nodded, looking into his empty cup, as if the answer was to be found at the bottom of it.

  “And have you tried to trace her through the financial world?” Lyrian asked.

  Ekbeth shook his head. “I did not have time yet. This required a lot of paperwork, and extensive research. So far, I have had other priorities.”

  “Ah. But I’m here to help now, Cousin.”

  “Yes. We may find something there. Though it’s going to be complicated, as we have no clue where her money might be.”

  Lyrian’s face was grim. “This means getting access to her family and her friends’ bank accounts, hoping to find a transfer linked to her accounts.”

  “Exactly. You need a team of experts to do that. And, believe me, I’ve asked too much of my personnel right now.”

  Lyrian looked gravely at him. “Ekbeth! They would go through fire for you! And I want the woman punished! Let me discuss this with them.”

  Ekbeth nodded his consent. It would certainly be great if Lyrian could concentrate on that part of the job.

  He sighed. “Kimiel. I found it such a strange name! What a redemption she’s been inflicting, indeed! And in such a short time! More events in a few days than we’ve experienced in the past year.”

  Lyrian nodded. “You can say that! And, I hate to say, we are not in control here. What’s going to happen next? A bit of forewarning would be nice!”

  Ekbeth put down his coffee cup and rose. “We’ll find her and Ara will punish her, that’s what going to happen. What I am going to do now is go to the Valley. I’ve delayed it too long. Time to check on how my renegade family members are coping with their punishment.”

  Lyrian laughed this time. “Oh yes. Bers’el told me about it! Did you really make them restore the McLeans’ house? And under Najeb’s supervision?” Ekbeth nodded. “Ara! They must hate you for that!”

  “Kalem is not too happy with me either. He does not want me to encourage his son with this building hobby. But, I gave those fools a choice: helping restore the McLeans’ house or being banished from the Valley. For once, they are being useful. I’m sure they will thank me at some point of time.”

  They both smiled, knowing that would never happen in a million years.

  35

  The silence around her was frightening. There was not even a whisper of wind to hear. If she remained perfectly still and closed her eyes, as she was doing right now, it felt as if she was alone in the world.

  She breathed in deeply. Once, twice. The air was humid, and cold. She fought the urge to cough. Smiled instead. And reopened her eyes.

  Her smile dissolved. The moment of perfection was gone.

  This place had once been her home. There were so many happy memories associated to this secluded valley, which was only accessible on foot, with the nearest road thirty minutes of gentle climbing away.

  At the time, she had never really paid that much attention to the trees clinging to the surrounding mountains, or even the little stream running through the clearing. No. She had only seen the house Yeshe and she had been living in most of the year, with their two yaks—those damned beasts that always refused to obey her—and, later, Sonam. And little Cholkye, for a short time.

  She only had to close her eyes to see the place as it had then been. It had been anything but silent! Even when there was no visitor, a rare exception, there had been no silence in this place. Yeshe had built a sort of water mill to help him with his jade sculpture work. The creaking of the wooden wheel on its axle had been a constant companion to their days.

  And the nights… She fought the tears. The nights in Yeshe’s arms had been magical.

  All was gone now. There was almost no trace left of their house, except for a few stones still standing from the lower floor walls.

  Burned to the ground.

  She could remember that, as well. The flames in the night, vivid yellow in the surrounding dark, the suffocating smell, the unbearable pain. And the men who were holding her, looking at the scenery, indifferent. The bastards who had inflicted so much pain in so little time. Destroyed everything she held dear. For nothing. Because they had not managed to get what they had been ordered to steal.

  She walked among the ruins of what had been her home. She hesitantly touched one of the stones on a crumbled wall. It fell to the ground.

  “I wish Yeshe had given them the Lady, Dorje-la,” she said softly.

  Her brother-in-law shook his head. He had been silently following her till now, respecting her need for privacy. He looked as grim as she. “They would still have killed all of us afterwards, Shona-la.”

  Dorje was right, of course. They had had plenty of warnings that no one would survive the soldiers’ visit. From the moment the attackers had entered the house, they had treated their hostages as if they were little better than animals ready to be butchered.

  Yeshe had been the only one to know the whereabouts of the Lady, the little jade sculpture the attackers wanted. The piece was normally in their home, but fate had willed that Yeshe had lent it to someone or hidden it somewhere without anyone else’s knowledge. It had not been the first time, but their attackers were not aware of that. They had been most unhappy to discover this fact.

  Something else they had not counted on was that Yeshe’s whole family would be present that night. Forty people in total, children and old people included. Four times the number of attackers. Only, the Bhutanese were no match for those men. They had no rifles and the attack had taken them by surprise, when everyone was asleep, and also, some of them, a little drunk.

  The soldiers had beaten Yeshe. Shona had been forced to watch. Then they had beaten her. Then someone else, and another. Even the little ones. Even her newborn baby.

  She closed her eyes. It was all so vivid in her mind. They had put a gun to the tiny head. She had begged Yeshe to tell them. He had simply shaken his head.

  The echo of the shot still rang in her head. That and her screaming. The rest was a blur. There had been moments of lucidity, though. Yeshe had endured further torture. They had broken his fingers one by one. Still, he refused to talk. In the end, she had done the only thing she could do to release him from the pain.

  Remembering, Shona touched another stone of the wall. It was if what had taken place here four years ago had just happened.

  The soldiers had been furious when they discovered that Yeshe was dead.

  Dorje had lost his wife and their three children in the ensuing massacre and the fire. As well as every other member of his direct family. Shona was still not entirely sure how he had survived the ordeal. Their aggressors had checked thoroughly that everyone was dead before setting fire to the house.

  They had only taken her because they thought she knew the location of the little statue. Brought her out of Bhutan. Tortured her somewhere else. Then given her to other torturers when it became obvious she had no answers for them.

  She did not want to think of this period—the few moments she could still remember, at least—because most of it was another long blur of pain.

  “I should have died with them, Dorje-la.”

  He nodded, and put a hand on her shoulder. “But your karma has decided otherwise. Shona-la. Accept it.”

  She let herself breathe out, and brushed away the tears from
her face.

  “You are brave, Shona-la,” Dorje said tenderly. “But it’s okay to cry.”

  She turned towards him, shook her head, but was unable to speak. There was so much hurt in her right now.

  Her brother-in-law took her in his arms. He was a bit smaller that she was, but his strong embrace was a comfort. She clung to him, and wept for a long time.

  *

  Slowed down by the monsoon season and the muddy roads the rains created, it had taken them a week to get from Phuentsholing to Lhuentse, even with the four-wheel drive of the Dasho’s car. That had given Shona plenty of time to get used to the idea that someone else had survived the ordeal. She had had many questions for Dorje, most of which he had not been able to answer. He could not remember much of that night—only that he had wandered in the mountains for days afterwards, lost, until someone had found him and brought him back to civilization, more dead than alive, where good doctors took care of him.

  The Dasho, the civil administrator who had brought the Abbott and Dorje, had also had some questions for her,—mainly where she had been during all this time. She had not lied about it—at least, those parts she still remembered.

  When then finally reached Lhuentse, she asked the Khenpo to organize a puja for her dead husband and his family. The holy man refused the money she offered. The ceremony had lasted two days, but took one week of preparation, during which she stayed with Dorje at the home of some of his friends. The Dzong, the Buddhist temple and administrative center, which dominated the village of Lhuentse, was closed to women during the night.

  Attending the prayers during the ceremony had lulled her into a sort of peace within herself. The blessing of the Khenpo had marked the end of the puja. Then she had headed to Khoma, where Dorje lived, partly by car, mostly on foot. The village was famous in all the country for its beautiful textiles, but it was still terribly remote. No wonder almost no tourists came so far, although Shona found that a pity. This would soon change, she thought, because a solid bridge was now being built that would allow cars to reach the city; right now, the only way in was on foot.

  Dorje was a master weaver. Shona was staying with him and his new family. He had remarried two years ago, and he had a lovely baby son. She was glad for him, but seeing that little baby had been difficult. Dorje had noticed it. His wife, as well, but it was difficult to protect her from that particular pain in such a small space. Shona put a brave face on it, accepting the baby’s presence for the sake of her hosts.

  She told herself that if she could suffer the daily fare of ema datse, a terribly spicy dish made primarily from peppers, which was the national fare of Bhutan, she could survive anything. Her stomach did not agree with that reasoning. She suffered from stomach cramps much of the day, and nothing seemed to help. She found herself vomiting her meals out more often than not. She continued to eat the peppers as if nothing was wrong.

  Dorje and his wife were busy most of the day with their weaving. Shona gave it a try. Most people in the village learned to weave at a very early age, with the result that most of them were experts by the time they reached their twenties. Shona made a mess of it. She had never been good at any kind of domestic work. She could barely help with the cooking of meals, however simple the task seemed.

  She also tried teaching English to the children. She was terrible at it. Seeing the children every day, their little faces so full of attention, caused her too much pain. She had not lasted a week.

  It was much more fun practicing archery, the Bhutanese sport, with the local team. Normally a strictly male activity, they made an exception for her. As she did not know any of the men with whom she competed, this was an indication that Dorje had spoken well of her. She could not participate in competitions with the other villages, as the men did, but archery, nevertheless, filled her days.

  Time was a relative concept in Bhutan. She had lost count of how many days she had been in Bhutan before Dorje asked her, gently, if she would like to visit her former home, the one she had shared with Yeshe. It would be a two-day journey, and he had time for that right now. She dreaded the confrontation that was waiting for her there, but knew she would have to go to the place eventually. So she agreed.

  *

  She was glad that Dorje had been able to go with her. If not for him, she would probably never have found the courage to confront the pain of returning to her old home.

  They were given a lift in a truck on the way back, and were now walking the last few miles back to the village. Their path crossed that of a few other villagers and some visitors, all carrying big balls of wrapped cloths on their backs. Greetings were exchanged, and introductions made, which made the journey to their destination, Dorje’s house, twice as long.

  “It’s busy today, Dorje-la,” Shona said.

  “Yes. We had a lot of orders recently, with the new promotions in Thimphu and all. That Internet thing is increasing our profit. When it works, at least.”

  Shona smiled. Bhutan was really a world apart. So backwards in some aspects, but fast integrating modern technologies, such as the Internet. When one kept in mind that Bhutanese television programs had only appeared little more than ten years ago, it was amazing how fast those people were integrating the changes.

  She had to think of the As’mirin valley at that moment and smirked. Ah! No television there for sure! She wondered briefly what Ekbeth was doing right now, but stopped the thought quickly. She was not interested in the man, or anything As’mir.

  Bhutan was her home. Not that other secluded place.

  When they entered Dorje’s house at last, an old monk was expecting them. According to Dorje’s wife, Pema, the man had been waiting for Shona since the day before. Shona was surprised to recognize the lama. She had seen him many times before the fire, when Yeshe and she were stopping by the Lhuentse Dzong on their trips. He had been Yeshe’s first art teacher.

  “I missed you at the Lhuentse Dzong, Tsering Rinpoche.”

  The old man smiled his toothless smile. He was not that old, but dentists were only now beginning their prevention campaigns here.

  “I am staying in the Singye Dzong nowadays. I am glad to see you, Shona-la. The news of your return has reached us and I’ve come to see you.”

  Shona was a bit ashamed. The Singye Dzong was a long trek for such a holy man.

  Dorje offered some tea and some betel, another Bhutanese specialty of which Shona was not really a fan. Tsering Rinpoche drank the tea and ignored the betel. Then he took out a small package from beneath his monk robes.

  “I have come to bring you back something Buddha put under my protection a long time ago, Shona-la.”

  Shona recognized the package immediately. She took it with trembling hands. “How…?” was all she could manage.

  The old monk nodded. “I always wanted to paint the Lady on a thangka. Yeshe-la lent the sculpture to me at my request. Unfortunately, he died before I could finish the painting. And I did not know what to do with it. Until I heard you were back.”

  Shona unwrapped the parcel with unsteady hands. The oh-so-familiar little piece of jade emerged from among the folds of cloth. Exactly as she remembered it. This was Yeshe’s masterpiece: The Lady. Expensive white jade, carved in the shape of a woman with elfin grace and abnormally long hair, yet wearing Bhutanese clothes. A curious combination of oriental and western art.

  Yeshe’s present to her for the birth of Sonam, their son.

  The sculpture so many people had died for, the sculpture Yeshe had given his life for.

  Shona understood his decision now. Yeshe knew they would not survive the soldiers’ interrogation. He knew, too, that the brutes would also attack the Dzong and massacre the monks if they had the slightest idea the statue was there. It was another isolated place—easy to attack.

  She caressed the jade. So smooth. So warm under her fingers.

  Tsering Rinpoche sighed. “I never managed to capture that beauty on the thangka. Yeshe was truly gifted.”

  Sho
na nodded. Then she wrapped the cloth around the statue again.

  Going back to her former home had been difficult. Seeing this statue so shortly afterwards was just too much. She felt more like screaming in pain than crying this time, though. No matter how much she had treasured that piece of jade, it was now so strongly linked to terrible memories that she had no idea what to do with it. Except, perhaps, to smash it to pieces. To break the curse.

  And perhaps to send the pieces to Kellerman. Oh, how much she would have liked to smash the statue in his face.

  However, the statue was all she had left of Yeshe’s love. And she had promised Toshio no harm would come to Kellerman.

  She bowed to the old monk. “Thank you for your visit, Rinpoche.”

  By the time the visitor left their house the following morning, Shona had decided one thing. She needed to tell the news to Jeffrey as soon as possible. Get his advice.

  Hopefully, the Internet connection of the village would be stable today.

  36

  Because of his work, Ekbeth had to travel a lot. He was constantly asking Nukri na Liom to transfer him from one spot to another, to save time. His employees wondered how he managed to be in four different spots around the world in the same day. Over the years, he had heard some interesting theories.

  His customers were not aware of that fact, though, and, for that reason, he had acquired apartments all around the world in the main financial locations, close to his offices. Orsina took care that the places were ready for his visits and never asked questions. Bless the woman.

  Right now he was in Shanghai, one of his favorite cities. Ekbeth’s apartment had a fantastic view over the river Huangpu and the Bund, the most touristic part of the city, with its last century international landmarks.

  Oh, the city was huge, polluted, a monstrosity of urban anarchy. Tall skyscrapers were being built everywhere. But it was worth walking beyond the modern main streets, where you could still see signs of its former splendor. And everyone seemed to be busy restoring the shabby parts to their former glory.