Thank you, Lord, for that small blessing.
Ahead, Kowalski swerved and skidded his all-terrain vehicle, seemingly determined to test its limits against rolling over. Only the young were convinced of their own immortality, willing to challenge death with such abandon. Age eventually wore down that confidence, but the best of us still kept tilting at windmills despite that knowledge—or maybe even because of it, appreciating each day, living to the fullest, knowing one day there would be no more.
As they hit the beach, Gray slowed to ride alongside Vigor, drawing him out of his cold reverie. He pointed ahead toward a tall rock jutting out from the ice field and rising high and pointing at the sky.
“That’s Burkhan Cape?” Gray asked.
It was also called Shaman’s Rock, home to the gods of the Buryats, known as tengrii. The site was considered one of Asia’s ten most sacred places.
Vigor nodded, shouting into the wind blowing off the lake. “The ceremonial grotto is on the far side, facing the water. That’s where the shaman will meet us. At the end of this beach, there should be a narrow isthmus that runs out from the shore to the cape.”
Gray nodded and sped up. He reined Kowalski in, and they swept around the curve and onto a thin strip of land that extended across the ice to a rise of craggy white cliffs, frosted with red moss.
A small figure stood at the end of the isthmus, guarding passage onto the promontory. He was a skinny young man in a long sheepskin jacket over a blue belted robe. He carried a hide drum slung over one shoulder. He waved for them to stop and turn off their engines, not looking happy about the racket. Vigor knew that in the past visitors used to cover the hooves of their horses with leather, so as not to disturb the gods of the cape.
“My name is Temur,” he said in strained English, bowing slightly. “I am to take you to Elder Bayan. He is awaiting you.”
Kowalski manhandled the duffel from the back of Vigor’s bike and they set off after the young man along a narrow path through the broken rock and up some icy hand-hewn steps in the rock face. A large cave mouth opened above them, facing the lake.
Vigor found himself wheezing by the time they had scaled the cliff and entered the cavern grotto. Flanking the entrance were two stone cairns, wrapped in colorful scarves and flags that flapped in the steady wind off the water. Between them knelt a wizened old man of indeterminate age. He could be sixty or maybe a hundred. He was similarly attired as the younger man, only with the addition of a tall peaked hat. On his knees, he was attending a fire, tossing in dried juniper branches, casting forth an indolent smoke that swirled about the cavern.
Farther back, a tunnel led deeper into the promontory, but Vigor doubted even his Vatican credentials would gain them access back there.
“Elder Bayan wishes you to kneel to either side of him and turn your faces to the lake.”
Gray waved them forward to obey.
Vigor took to one side, his friends the other. The smoke stung his nostrils and eyes, but it smelled oddly sweet. Temur began slowly beating his drum while the shaman recited prayers, wafting a burning juniper branch in his hand.
Beyond the mouth of the cave, the dark lake slowly brightened, turning the waters from a deep indigo to a sky blue. Ice glistened in a thousand hues of cobalt and sapphire. Then in a flash, fire spread across the water and ice, ignited by the first rays of the sun, flowing like molten gold.
Vigor let out a small gasp at the sight, feeling privileged to witness this. Even the wind died down for a breath, as if awed by the sight.
Then with a final loud bang on his drum, Temur turned to them. “It is done. You may now speak to Elder Bayan.”
The shaman stood, motioning them to their feet.
Properly blessed, Vigor climbed up and bowed to Elder Bayan. “Thank you for meeting with us. We have a matter of urgency and seek someone who has great knowledge of Olkhon.”
Temur translated their conversation, whispering in Bayan’s ear.
“What do you wish to know?” the young man asked for the elder.
Vigor turned to Gray. “Show him the relics.”
Taking the duffel from Kowalski, Gray unzipped the bag and carefully removed the objects, placing the skull and book down, alongside the tarnished silver box. Gray opened the lid and revealed the boat inside.
The only reaction from the elder was a slight widening of his eyes.
“What is all this?” Temur asked, but the question didn’t come from the shaman, only from the young man’s curiosity.
Instead, the shaman stepped forth and hovered his hands over each object, again whispering prayers.
Finally, he spoke again, and Temur translated. “The power is old, but not unknown.”
Vigor stared at Bayan’s wrinkled hands.
Did he feel the same energy as Duncan?
The shaman ended up with his palm resting above the skull.
“We know what you seek,” Temur continued, speaking for Bayan. “But to trespass there is with great danger.”
“We will be happy to face that danger,” Vigor said.
Bayan frowned once this was whispered in his ear. “No, you will not.” Temur turned specifically to face Vigor. “Elder Bayan says you are suffering much, but you will suffer more.”
Misgiving rang through Vigor. He glanced at Gray.
Temur continued, “I am to take you to what you seek.”
Vigor should have been overjoyed by this offer, but instead he found himself growing colder as the shaman continued to stare at him, his ancient face a mask of sorrow.
Vigor had accepted his death as inevitable. But for the first time in many months, he began to fear what was to come.
8:07 A.M.
Rachel walked through the horse barn at the back of the property. She tugged the zipper of her parka down. She had meant to take a walk after breakfast, needing to burn off nervous energy but also to think about her uncle.
She fought against wanting to control his disease, making lists in her head: which doctors to call, which clinics to consult, which new therapeutic trials to enroll in. But in the end, she knew she must simply let that go. Vigor had clearly made his peace. She must, too.
But she could not sit still in the quiet inn. She also didn’t know what to say to Seichan after seeing her leave Gray’s room. It was too awkward, so she went for a walk—until the cold drove her back to the inn, with her nose numb and her cheeks burning from the blustery weather.
Rather than immediately going back inside, she ended up in the barn, where she could escape the wind. Shadowy horses heated the space, nickering softly at her intrusion. The place smelled of hay, manure, and musty sweat. She walked the length, rubbing a velvet nose of a mare over a gate, offering a handful of grain to another.