She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “So that’s why you looked so peaceful. I thought it was because we weren’t quarreling anymore.”
“I never know whether we are quarreling or getting along. It seems to change so quickly…”
“You must think me dreadfully unstable,” she said. “I swear I don’t know why my moods have been so erratic lately. I am usually so calm.”
He stood up, stretched, and offered his hand to help her up. Linley took it, and after a few minutes of working out her own body’s kinks, she went to wake the others.
They had no food left in any of their packs. With hunger chewing at their stomachs, the Talbot-Martin team began their slow climb up the side of the mountain.
Morning clouds hung heavy in the air. Birds called out from the thin, straight pines above, and the carved stone steps were slick and damp beneath the team’s feet. Despite being tired, sore, and hungry, everyone seemed in good spirits. No one even scolded Linley for chatting with Patrick.
“Isn’t this the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen?” she asked him, trailing her fingertips along the wet rock of the mountainside.
Patrick looked out onto the valley. They had come a long way since yesterday, hiking up the stone trail, which grew steeper and steeper the higher they climbed. Patrick did not know how much further the team would have to go, but he prayed the trek would not last much longer.
“It is magnificent,” he said. “You cannot even see the valley floor anymore.”
Linley peered down over the edge of the stone steps. It was a long way down, for certain. “I bet this is what it looks like when you fly in an aeroplane. I’ve always wanted to go up in one, you know.”
She dreamed of what it must feel like to soar over clouds, and cities, and rivers. What a marvelous age they lived in where such things were possible!
By noon, the Talbot-Martin team reached the ceiling of thick, white clouds that blanketed the valley. Their clothes hung limply off their bodies, damp from sweat and the moisture in the air. The canteens on their belts were dry. No one had eaten anything since the day before. Hunger and thirst dragged their tired bodies down.
“Not to complain, Bedford,” Schoville said, “But I’m not sure how much longer we can go on without food or water.”
Suddenly, Linley’s father stopped. “Do you hear that?”
Archie cupped his hand around his ear, straining. In the distance, the sound of low, deep voices rumbled through the rocks, clouds, and trees. “What…is…that?”
“Chanting!” Sir Bedford said. “Hurry!”
They scurried up the mountain, climbing right through the clouds. Hand over hand, the team stumbled blindly through the white air that covered everything around them. Moments passed where they could not see the feet of the person in front of them, but they followed the sound of the voices like lost sheep running after the call of a shepherd.
Sir Bedford Talbot-Martin was the first to emerge from the clouds. The rest of his team followed a few steps behind, their bodies bursting out of the muddled sky one by one. On the other side, the chanting rang clear through the peaceful valley. Colorful flags hung from ropes strung through the treetops. Reds and blues and yellows flapped in the soft breeze that swirled through the mountaintops and down into the valley.
A few hundred yards away, a large white structure clung to the side of the mountain. Its red roof peaked above the trees and clouds, a silent guardian watching over the earth below.
“The hidden monastery!” Linley’s father said, breathless with wonder. If the scrolls were anywhere, they were there.
The team raced up the stone trail. In what seemed like only seconds, they reached the foot of the brightly painted steps that led up to the entrance of the monastery.
A red-robed monk stood at the top of the stairs. He watched them approach, his arms folded under the swaths of his simple garment. He did not speak, but as plainly as if he’d called out, a dozen more monks materialized from the doorways of the monastery.
The Talbot-Martin team stilled beneath the man’s gaze. They dared not climb the steps of this sacred place without an invitation.
Leaning heavily on a cane, the monk took step by slow step until he reached the point where Sir Bedford and the others stood. He pressed his hands together and bowed.
For lack of any better idea, Linley’s father bowed in return.
The monk only smiled and bowed again.
“Hello,” Sir Bedford said.
Again, the monk bowed a series of short bows.
Linley’s father turned to Reginald. “I doubt he speaks English. Could you try to communicate with him?”
Reginald stepped forward and said something to the man. When that did not seem to work, he tried another language, and then another. All his university-taught languages failed him. The man appeared not to understand a word he spoke.