Free The Skull Mantra by Eliot Pattison Page B

life, too, had its defining moments. He eased his grip.
    â€œWhy here?” Shan asked. “Why go so far from town but leave the body so conspicuous?”
    An unsettling longing appeared in Jilin’s eyes. “The audience.”
    â€œAudience?”
    â€œSomeone told me once about a tree falling down in the mountains. It don’t make a sound if no one’s there to hear. A killing with no one to appreciate it, what’s the point? A good murder, that requires an audience.”
    â€œMost murderers I’ve known act in private.”
    â€œNot witnesses, but those who discover it. Without an audience there can be no forgiveness.” He recited the words carefully, as if they had been taught to him in
tamzing
sessions.
    It was true, Shan realized. The body had been discovered by the prisoners because that was what the murderer intended. He paused, looking into Jilin’s wild eyes, then released the lighter and looked at the disc. It was convex, two inches in width. Small slots at the top and bottom indicated that it had been designed to slide onto a strap for ornamentation. Tibetan script, in an old style that was unintelligible to Shan, ran along the edge. In the center was the stylized image of a horse head. It had fangs.
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    As Shan approached Choje, the protecting circle parted. He was uncertain whether to wait until the lama finished his meditation. But the moment Shan sat beside him, Choje’s eyes opened.
    â€œThey have procedures for strikes, Rinpoche,” Shan said quietly. “From Beijing. It’s written in a book. Strikers willbe given the opportunity to repent and accept punishment. If not, they will try to starve everyone. They make examples of the leaders. After one week a strike by a
lao gai
prisoner may be declared a capital offense. If they feel generous, they could simply add ten years to every sentence.”
    â€œBeijing will do what it must do,” came the expected reply. “And we will do what we must do.”
    Shan quietly studied the men. Their eyes held not fear, but pride. He swept his hand toward the guards below. “You know what the guards are waiting for.” It was a statement, not a question. “They are probably already on the way. This close to the border, it won’t take long.”
    Choje shrugged. “People like that, they are always waiting for something.” Some of the monks closest to them laughed softly.
    Shan sighed. “The man who died had this in his hand.” He dropped the medallion in Choje’s hand. “I think he pulled it from his murderer.”
    As Choje’s eyes locked on the disc, they flashed with recognition, then hardened. He traced the writing with his finger, nodded, and passed it around the circle. There were several sharp cries of excitement. As the men passed it on, their eyes followed the disc with looks of wonder.
    There had been no real struggle between the murderer and his victim, Shan knew. Dr. Sung had been right on that point. But there had been a moment, perhaps just an instant of realization, when the victim had seen, then touched his killer, had reached out and grabbed the disc as he was being knocked unconscious.
    â€œWords have been spoken about him,” Choje said. “From the high ranges. I wasn’t sure. Some said he had given up on us.”
    â€œI don’t understand.”
    â€œThey were among us often in the old days.” The lama’s eyes stayed on the disc. “When the dark years came they went deep inside the mountains. But people said they would come back one day.”
    Choje looked back to Shan. “Tamdin. The medallion is from Tamdin. The Horse-Headed, they call him. One of the spirit protectors.” Choje paused and recited several beads,then looked up with an expression of wonder. “This man without a head. He was taken by one of our guardian demons.”
    As the words left Choje’s mouth, Yeshe appeared at the edge