Dragons Awakening
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: To Find Vision

Stiff wind sliced through the wool sweater and ruffled Zi’s shoulder-length tresses against her cheeks. She inhaled the clean mountain air, touched with a hint of wood smoke and burning incense. Tibet’s rugged peaks surrounded her, reminding her of Akolo and their time on Everest.

“Are you going to shave your head?” That had been his question when she told him of her plan to study at the monastery over the summer. “I dare you to.”

The memory of their conversation relaxed her shoulders. Her lips quirked into a small smile.

Leading her through the courtyard, the monk moved with purpose. His brown robe wore barely rippled in the breeze, revealing tan leggings for an instant. His bald head reflected the mid-day light. Didn’t his head get cold? Zi had not intention of replaceing out for herself.

A variety of stone pagodas dispersed around the yard offered shelter for meditation and study. The bright orange robes of the masters stood apart from the tan of students and brown of common workers. Zi hurried her steps when her guide pressed open massive wooden doors criss-crossed with thick iron-studded supports.

Darkness, broken only by a few flickering lanterns, robbed her vision for a few moments. High windows cast pools of light from without and within. A hum of chanting voices emanated from the opposite end of the corridor. Dragon shadows danced along the walls, leaping in the swaying radiance cast by the flames. The heady scent of incense seeped from beneath a door.

Her guide turned down a wide corridor lined with four doors. The monk’s slippered feet moved soundlessly over the stone blocks, making Zi Yan hyper-aware of the squelching of her soled shoes. He knocked sharply on the furthest one and pushed it open after a muffled voice beckoned, “Enter.”

The monk bowed to a balding man seated in a far corner on a pillow. The abbot’s burgundy robes billowed as he rose smoothly to his feet, returned the bow. The monk exited without turning his back to the khenpo and pulled the wooden door shut behind him.

ZI bowed her own head, keeping her eyes fixed on the yellow slippers the abbot wore. He shuffled to the large desk and sat behind it.

“Be seated.” Although his voice was quiet, it carried immense authority. His Mandarin was clipped, unaccented.

ZI sat on the spindly chair across from him.

“The scrolls in the library are old and fragile.” Was this supposed to be news?

He stared out her with fathomless eyes. He scanned her from head to toe and Zi wished she’d wore something other than cargo pants, a thick sweater and soft-soled boots. Did she own any clothing the religious man would replace acceptable? Probably not.

“Visionaries of the past have recorded their prophecies and kept journals. We have representations from more than two millennia in our collection.”

“Thank you for allowing me to study them.”

“The library keeper will educate you in the proper handling of these items before you have permission to view them.”

ZI nodded. She’d read the lengthy letter of instruction from the abbot. He sounded less than pleased to offer her a dark closet and a month of access to the ancient writings she sought. But she was The Visionary. The governor had insisted she be offered full access.

“You will never remove any of the items from the room where they are stored. If you mishandle any of the scrolls, you will be immediately escorted from the library.”

“Yes, khenpo.” Zi bowed her head. Her fingers itched to begin the search.

“Only myself and the library keeper know your true identity.”

ZI’s gaze snapped up. The old man studied her with interest.

“It’s not a secret,” she said.

“You are forbidden from mentioning it within these walls, or if you traverse in Lhasa proper.”

“Why?”

“I need not explain myself.” True. The abbot was the sole authority inside the monastery. Not even the governor could supersede his orders. But the governor could withhold funding. Government was government, even in a monastery. “But we believe your true identity would be disruptive to those seeking enlightenment here.”

ZI couldn’t disagree.

“You will be shown to your cell now, where you will change into appropriate attire. The keeper expects you in the library within the hour.”

ZI bowed her head, rising from her seat and backing out of the room as the monk had done. Her heart accelerated at the thought of the discoveries awaiting her in the library. Darker corridors lead to the sleeping quarters. Cell was an accurate description of the tiny room with a single bed, small table, chair and lamp where a canvas bag of simple robes and leggings awaited.

She pulled the rough linen over her legs and arms. The soft slippers caressed her feet.

Light dimmed. The monk padded down the shadowy hall. She pulled the door closed and followed. Their slippers whispered. Lanterns hissed. Several turns later, enormous carved doors blocked the passage. The energy required to swing the wooden doors wide sucked her lungs dry. Rich air, scented with old paper and fresh ink engulfed her, a heavenly embrace.

Zi blinked. Lamplight puddled around her slippered feet and the base of the bulging sack holding her discarded clothing. She grasped the drawstrings and hefted the bag.

In a decisive move, she stepped from her vision into reality.

The End