Free Exiles by Cary Groner

to the roll cage for dear life. Every time a big rock tipped them toward the edge she got an inspiring view of a five-hundred-foot vertical drop. Her fingers were white from gripping the steel bar.
    Peter hadn’t been in territory this rough for a long time, and old habits quickly resurfaced. He began to scan the rock faces, looking for interesting routes up them. In Yosemite or Smith Rock he would have seen little chalk blotches on the cliffs, revealing the passage of other climbers. Here there was nothing but pristine granite. A shiver went down him as he remembered the day he’d quit climbing, the terror he’d felt. His palms began to sweat. He looked away from the cliffs to try to redirect his thoughts.
    They entered a high mountain valley where the road leveled off and followed a stream. Peter figured they were up at about seven thousand feet. He felt pleased that he would actually get to ply his trade as a cardiologist for a change, though he was nervous about the patient, a Tibetan lama with heart trouble. Peter didn’t know much about lamas, but Devi had warned him that the old man had a formidable reputation; she’d heard about him for years but had never seen him, since he rarely ventured from his monastery. She was excited but also apprehensive at the prospect of meeting him.
    “Hey, Tibetan chick,” said Alex, between clenched teeth. “You digging this?”
    “I am
so
getting in touch with my roots,” said Devi, but there were jitters behind her flippancy.
    The jeep crabbed up a steep, muddy grade and bounced over a crest; then suddenly they were on top of the ridge. Mina braked, and they came to a halt by a small iron gate. Beyond it stood a cluster of low, square, whitewashed dwellings. Several monks in burgundy robes walked about or sat together, talking. Farther up the hill a bigger building perched on the highest part of the ridge, alight in the late-morning sun. A monk approached, waving, and opened the gate.
    “Tashi delek!”
he called.
    “
Tashi delek
, Lobsang,” said Mina. She jumped from the car and gave him a hug. Peter was astonished to see her so affectionate. He found himself wondering what the monk had that he didn’t, and the answer came to him immediately:
vows
.
    Mina gestured at Peter and the girls. “I’ve brought fresh meat for the lion.”
    “Ah, good!” said the monk, looking them over. “Lion very hungry!” He laughed as he sized up the dusty, rattled occupants of the jeep. He was about thirty, broad-shouldered, and wore a red
tzen
thrown over his left shoulder and a matching monk’s skirt. His brown, callused feet were slipped into rubber flip-flops. He had just a little stubble of black hair, along with a couple of razor cuts in his scalp from the last time his head had been shaved. He was almost alarmingly good-humored.
    He came over to Peter’s side of the jeep. “You doctor?”
    “Yes, I’m Peter,” he said, and they shook hands. “This is my daughter, Alex, and her friend, Devi.”
    “Hi,” said Alex.
    “Tashi delek,”
said Devi, attentive and respectful.
    “Oh—you Tibetan?” asked Lobsang.
    Devi nodded and smiled. There followed a brief, animated conversation, during which he took both her hands in his and they gazed at each other like old friends. They spoke quickly, through grins, seeming always on the point of laughter.
    “You getting any of this?” Peter asked Alex.
    “Not a word.” She sounded irritated.
    Lobsang mussed up Devi’s hair as if she were his kid sister; she narrowed her eyes teasingly and said something that sounded vaguely cutting, and he jumped back, mouth wide open, fists on his hips in mock indignation. They both laughed again, and Lobsang waved her off, then came around and hopped up on the front of the jeep. Mina got back in and hit the gas. They sallied forward, bouncing up a rutted, muddy track to the base of a stone walkwaythat led to the main monastery building. When Mina braked, Lobsang slid off the hood right onto