by Meg Xuemei X
“Whatever.” She managed a careless tone.
“Well, just so you’re not too disappointed,” Vladimir whispered. “I—we must find the scroll. That’s my one-way ticket to be with you. If we have it, your grandfather and that bulldog Kian McQuillen can’t object to our—hanging out. That’s been my brilliant plan all along.”
Outside her family, few knew of the existence of the three ancient scrolls. Lucienne wondered how Vladimir had gotten wind of them, but she was more occupied with his confession. He brought her here . . . to gain her. For a moment, all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart. As she calmed down, all the sounds she had blocked out flooded back into the room—the monks’ guttural chanting from the prayer hall and the crowd’s singing amid the drumbeat from the courtyard. Today was the first day of Tibetan Losar.
“Well,” Lucienne said, trying to hide a smile. “I don’t need Jed and Kian’s approval on whom I choose—to hang out with.”
“I’d like to be on good terms with your people.”
“If you insist,” Lucienne said. “But how can you be so sure the scroll’s in Samye?” She knew the former Sirens had checked Drepung, Ganden, and Sera—the three most important monasteries in Tibet—but paid little attention to Samye.
“Samye was the first monastery in Tibet,” Vladimir said. “When it was built in the eighth century, Shantarakshita, the saint, brought a holy item with him and had the Seven Examined Men guard it with their lives. But even the Seven Men weren’t allowed to peek at what they were guarding. Word spread among the high-ranking monks that the holy item was one of the three ancient scrolls. When I overheard their whispers during one of my midnight escapades, I started looking for it.”
“Midnight escapades?”
Vladimir gave her a look. “Anyway, during my nights out, I found where Saint Shantarakshita hid the treasure.”
“Then do you mind showing me? We’ve been here for a good hour. The monks could find us any minute. Maybe we should go back to the Dalai Lama’s old throne room. Some relics inside the barred glass case looked promising. We might find a clue inside Padmasambhava's walking stick or in Shantarakshita’s skull?”
“I checked all those last time I was here,” Vladimir said. “And I have absolute confidence in my scanner. You know how much money I spent on it? No, the holy stuff is here. I didn’t go through hell to get the original floor map of this place for nothing. Only Gonkhang chapel has this extra hidden space.”
“Three by two by fourteen feet, you said.”
“And it’s right behind this wall.” Vladimir knocked on the frescoes wall.
“Shush,” Lucienne hushed him, catching a faint flash of light at the fringe of her vision. She turned her head. There was no light. Only the Bön demon’ statue stood tall. She strolled toward it, her eyes sweeping over the human skulls at its feet and up its hideous body to its protruding fangs, settling on its odd eyes.
Vladimir moved behind her like a panther. Lucienne was immediately aware of his warm breath on her neck. His scent was like a wild river rushing under the summer sun, making her blood wild. “Have you noticed his eyes?” She breathed, struggling not to be distracted by his nearness.
“They look mean?”
“Look again.”
Vladimir squinted. “All the statues in the temple have black eyes. Only this deity’s third eye is pale blue.”
“Take me up,” Lucienne said.
Vladimir bent one knee. The minute their hands clasped, Lucienne used the push to leap from his bent knee; her booted feet landed on his shoulders. Vladimir craned his neck to look up, but Lucienne’s ankle tapped the side of his face with a warning. Vladimir leveled his head with a chortle, snuggling his face against her calf like a purring cat. “Lithe grace,” he said.
Forcing herself to focus on her task rather than Vladimir’s touch, Lucienne twisted open one of her bracelets, an archaeology artifact scanner, and placed it in front of the demon’s eyes. “Both eyes are made of onyx.” She moved it toward the statue’s third eye. It read: Artificial human eye. 775 CE.
Technology ahead of its time. Lucienne inhaled. “Flashlight, please.”
Vladimir tossed his flashlight up. Lucienne snatched it and shot the light into the third eye. The artificial blue eye swirled, as if coming to life. Lucienne jerked her head back. The beads on her braids rattled.
“Lucia?” Vladimir stirred under her feet, his voice sounding alarmed.
Suddenly, Lucienne knew what to do. She leaned in until her left eye was an inch from the artificial one. She widened her eye, holding for a few seconds, and blinked.
A whoosh of wind rippled across the chapel; the solid wall of frescoes moved. Lucienne landed beside Vladimir. The wall rolled aside, revealing a small compartment. Vladimir dashed into it with Lucienne at his heels. They stared at a transparent palm reader that guarded the last door.
“Biometric technology,” whispered Vladimir. “It’s more advanced than any scanner I’ve seen. Give me your artifact tool.”
Lucienne had already turned her device on the palm reader. Transparent metal. She drew a breath. “How could they have had this technology in the eighth century?”
“It might not be their technology.” Vladimir pressed his palm against the scanner. Instantly a violent force sent him flying across the chapel. He hit a wall and slid to the floor.
“Vlad! Are you hurt?” Lucienne ran to him.
Vladimir groaned, coughed, and cursed in Czech as he struggled up.
Drumbeats and the chanting of monks from the distant Pray Hall stopped abruptly. Vladimir and Lucienne traded an alarmed look. Had the monks been alerted to their presence? Lucienne turned back to the biometric scanner.
“I don’t think that’s wise,” Vladimir warned.
“I opened the first door. Now I have to open the last.”
She placed a hand on the scanner. Intense electricity seared through her, sending her soaring into the air. Vladimir reacted instantly, catching her before she hit the wall. The impact drove them both to the ground. “I’m glad you’re on top,” said Vladimir with another groan. “I absorbed most of the hit.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Lucienne turned to Vladimir, their faces inches away. His warm breath and pheromone made her forget where she was. Rushing footsteps brought her to her senses.
“Vlad?”
“Yes, Lucia?” he whispered, his hands pressing against the small of her back.
“We’ve been discovered.”
“I know. But there’s no need for them to yell. That’s kind of rude.”
“They’re not yelling.”
“No, but they will.”
Lucienne broke from Vladimir’s strong arms and scrambled to her feet. Vladimir’s eyes darted between the compartment and the chapel entrance. “We need to shut the closet. Let’s come back when we figure out that DNA scanner.”
“We won’t get a second chance.” Lucienne was at the biometric scanner in a second. She knelt, her back to the scanner, and brushed her long braids to the side. On the nape of her neck was an eye-shaped gold implant that resembled flowing liquid, yet was entirely solid. It was the mark of the Siren, removed from the former Siren and transplanted to her when she was crowned in the ritual.
The mark of the Siren was the ultimate secret for all Sirens, a secret they carried to their grave, more sacred than the symbol of a king’s scepter. It sanctioned the Siren and bestowed upon the wearer powers and supernatural protection. The chip felt cool in Lucienne’s neck now. But when she was implanted, the pain was like wading through seas of sulfur fire.
“Lucia?” Vladimir asked, moving toward her with a puzzled look.
Lucienne held out a hand to stop him from getting closer. Her back arched and her head bent backwards, Lucienne touched the Siren’s mark to the cold surface of the biometric scanner.
It sounded like the sigh of the wind. Then a stone door slowly moved aside, exposing a crypt under a small swirl of stairwell.
“I can’t tell you.” She turned to gaze into his eyes, sharply. “It’s my Siren’s—thing.”
Vladimir held her gaze for a second and shrugged. “Fine.”
A stone altar stood at the center of the crypt. On top of the altar a crystal box shone in the dark. Lucienne released her pent-up breath and lifted the lid. Inside was a curled scroll. Her shaking hands picked it up and flattened it. The artifact matched the description from the memories of her Siren’s mark. Lucienne pulled out her archaeological decoder. The scanner read: ancient human scalp.
This ancient map would show her the way to the Eye of Time and help her stop the family war. She’d lead the Lams dynasty to glory once again. Lucienne stared at it, dazed by the significance of the moment.
A bell rang somewhere, piercing the silence and echoing along the stone.
Lucienne woke up and whispered, “We found the second scroll.”
Vladimir gently removed the map from her hand, rolled it carefully, and inserted it into a scroll holder. “We can make a toast later,” he said, wrapping his hand around her waist and steering her up the stairs.
Five monks blocked the doorway of the chapel, glaring at their intruders.
Lucienne’s Tibetan was limited, and she had a hard time understanding all these monks shouting at the same time. “What are they fussing about?” she asked.
“They said we aren’t going anywhere.” Vladimir shrugged.
“I guessed as much.”
Vladimir sighed. “Are you ready, pumpkin?”
“I’ve told you not to call me that,” Lucienne said, swiftly pulling out a gas mask from her worship gear bag and hooking it to her nose.
Before the monks could shout a warning, Vladimir had donned a mask and tossed a teargas canister in front of them. He and Lucienne shot through a spout of grayish smoke and a hail of coughing and collapsing monks. Stepping over their writhing bodies, Lucienne and Vladimir lurched out of Gonkhang Chapel and sprang through the hallway. At a safe distance from the smoke, Vladimir pulled off his mask with a grin. “That’s what I meant. We’ll walk away in plain sight. Blend in with the tourists and pilgrims.”
Just then more footsteps rushed toward them from the end of the hallway.
“Thanks for your confidence,” said Lucienne.
“Life’s full of unexpected twists,” Vladimir said. “Samye isn’t the Gelugpa lineage, but it still feeds thousands of monks.”
“Three hundred are Khampas. The best trained warrior monks!” Lucienne said.
“We’d better go down the secret passages then,” Vladimir said.
Turning on her heel, Lucienne followed him.
The passageway was long and narrow with brick walls. Lucienne brushed aside the colorful silk hangings from the ceilings, trying to control her panting. She had always hated small spaces. But at least the monks’ fading footsteps offered her slight comfort.
“You’re lucky that I know all the secret passages here,” Vladimir gloated. “You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”
“No!” Lucienne said, alarmed. “Why? Are you?”
“Of course not. Who do you think I am?” Vladimir chuckled. “Five more passageways and we’re out of here. But I think I should give you a heads up. The second to last passage is a tunnel we’ll have to crawl through.”
“How long is it?”
“Close to fifty feet.”
Swallowing, Lucienne cursed Vladimir in her head.
Then they both saw it—moving toward them like rolling waves were monks in yellow robes and red belts, thrusting long spears before them.
“Khampas.” Vladimir inhaled sharply.
“You told me these were secret passages.”
“Yeah. I forgot the monks know about them, too.”
“Great. So what are we going to do about those spears?”
“Tear gas. It’s too tight to fight in here.”
Vladimir and Lucienne placed their gas masks on their faces in sync, before he pulled the pin and reared back for a long throw. With the canister still in the air, the monks put on gas masks.
Lucienne’s jaw dropped. Vladimir gestured frantically to go back the way they had come. When they turned the next corner, they heard more footsteps a few blocks ahead.
They slipped off their masks, their breathing labored. Behind them, the Khampas were in hot pursuit; in front of them, an assembly of monks roared.
“We’re being hunted,” Vladimir said.
Lucienne was unfazed. In fact, she was rather relieved—she wouldn’t have to crawl through fifty feet of cramped tunnel. She stroked a string of colorful beads around her neck with a smile.
Vladimir shook his head. “The drawing on the ceiling represents fifteen hundred years of Tibetan religion and culture.”
“If we’re dead, we won’t appreciate it,” Lucienne said. “Besides, the 1980s’ renovation is hardly relic. If you had studied the monastery’s history instead of fooling around, you would know the Chinese Red Guard destroyed most of the monastery during the Cultural Revolution.” Lucienne eyed the monks, who were closing in on them from both sides of the passage. “I need a hand.”
Vladimir held Lucienne’s waist, hoisting her up. “I studied the monastery’s history instead of fooling around. I just hope you understand I’m in kind of a sentimental mood right now.”
“We’ll discuss your mood later—if we get back in once piece,” Lucienne said. She removed the strings of beads from her neck and pressed them against the ceiling.
As soon as Vladimir set Lucienne down, they sprang to a safe distance and quickly inserted earplugs. Lucienne twisted her left earring.
The beads erupted with sparks of fire, followed by clouds of smoke. Cement, splinters, and rocks poured down. An opening bigger than a manhole appeared in the ceiling, letting in sunlight through the dirt and smoke.
The monks ceased their advance, gesturing frantically, and shouting among themselves.
Lucienne darted toward the hole, looking up. On the roof a few yards away from the edge of the open ceiling sat a marble lion head. “I didn’t blow it up!” she said with delight, tossing a military grappling hook. Its claws caught the lion’s head.
Lucienne tugged on her end of the rope, making sure the hook bit the lion tight. Pulling the earplugs out of her ears, Lucienne jumped up the rope and climbed with the skill of a lizard.
The monks’ shouting boomed through the passage. They were suffering hearing loss from the blast, but that didn’t stop them from charging blindly toward their enemy.
Lucienne yanked out a seven-foot steel whip, and Vladimir produced his sanjiegun. The sanjiegun was state-of-the-art, with three sticks linked by steel chains. He spun it through the air, warning the monks to back off. The sanjiegun whooshed. To enhance the effect, Vladimir mimicked Bruce Lee’s battle cries.
The warriors exchanged looks of annoyance, then fury. But in Lucienne’s eyes, her partner’s moves were like poems. What a magnificent animal! she thought. In a few seconds, she had reached the ceiling. Her long legs swept up onto the roof. Lucienne landed in a crouch, amid the debris.
“Hey, Lucia, don’t leave without me!” Vladimir called. “The monks will tear me apart.”
“I doubt it.” Lucienne swung the rope toward him. Still wielding his sanjiegun, Vladimir snatched the rope and started climbing. The monks charged like a runaway train.
Two spears from opposite directions thrust toward Vladimir. One spear went for his ribs while the other tried to slice the rope above his head. Vladimir’s sanjiegun snapped out, knocking the sharp head of the spear away from his ribcage. “That was mean, dude,” he told the monk in Tibetan.
Wrapping her feet around a bronze bell at the edge of the ceiling, Lucienne dove back through the opening. Her whip lashed out, just in time to wrap around the other spear that almost sliced the r
ope and yank it up. The two monks attacking Vladimir staggered back, surprised.
Lucienne’s whip tossed the spear toward the ranks of the monks. The warriors fell back to dodge it.
Vladimir hoisted himself up to the roof like a big cat at top-speed. Forcing her whip to make one last stinging snap, Lucienne followed him.
The broad open space brought Lucienne joy—cloudless blue sky and endless tiled roofs. The late afternoon sunlight trickled through Vladimir’s golden eyelashes, turning his hazel eyes the color of the sun-dazzled ocean. His golden brown hair captured the sunbeams and smelled of spring rain. Lucienne drank in the sight of his beautiful tanned face, smiling as if swimming under the influence of aged wine.
“Can’t get enough of me, I know.” Vladimir flashed a lopsided grin. “But now’s not the time for romance.”
“You’re being ridiculous again.” Lucienne’s smile turned to a growl.
Vladimir dragged her up. “Well, here’s something that’s not ridiculous—run!”
Lucienne glanced over her shoulder to see the monks climbing through the hole in the roof.
Vladimir and Lucienne dashed onto the rooftop. Under their feet, Samye Monastery was laid out like a giant mandala. “We’re far from Wuzi Hall,” Vladimir said. Wuzi was the main temple that represented Mount Sumeru. The Tibetans believed that Mount Sumeru was the mythical mountain at the center of the Universe. Lucienne had witnessed how the pilgrims prostrated toward the temple.
“We’re close to the east corner of the Ling temple,” Vladimir continued, looking at the mountains in the distance. “We’ll get to the wall and climb the mountain, then head to our glider. What would you like for dinner?”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about dinner right now,” Lucienne said. “Look down.”
Tibetan drumbeats blasted from the courtyard. A dozen warrior monks made their way through the herdsmen’s ritual dance, followed by at least a hundred monks maneuvering through dancing girls wearing pink hats. The crowds clasped their hands and followed the dancers’ chanting, as if sword-carrying monks and explosions were simply part of the celebration.
Lucienne and Vladimir hopped from a sloping shingle roof to a cement-tiled roof. “We need to break for the wall at the southeast corner. It’s closest to Mount Hepori.” Vladimir pointed at an oval stone wall topped by tiny chortens that surrounded the entire monastery. The gates were heavily guarded by the warrior monks.
