Free Neon Lotus by Marc Laidlaw

luminous
calipers, closing in on the nomads. She hoped the beams were only meant for illumination,
but it seemed unlikely.
    Her fears
were confirmed a moment later. One of the rays swept over some members of the
party, not far distant. Screams tore the night, following the path of that
burning light.
    Marianne
gasped, sickened. Walls of black rock rose around her, shutting out the stars
and those merciless rays. A soft green flare came to life, lighting the way
through a corridor of rock.
    She glanced
back and saw Dr. Norbu and Jetsun Dorje hurrying along behind her, accompanied
by a number of the nomadic men and women who had greeted them. When she saw the
helpless expression on Reting’s face, she knew that he had also heard the
screams. She could think of nothing to say. Besides, she had to pay attention
to the path. The floor was uneven and it was all too easy to stumble.
    Gradually
the corridor widened. The radiance of the green lantern grew diffuse in the
greater darkness and she heard their footsteps echoing from unseen walls. Just
ahead, she heard the rushing of water. A moment later she saw the green light
reflected on the surface of a tossing river. Stalactites hemmed in the
watercourse, like columns along a low-ceilinged canal. Floating along the
shore, tethered to the stone pillars, were three large rubber coracles fitted
with outboard motors.
    She and Dr.
Norbu were helped into one boat along with two nomads. The remaining Tibetans
clambered into the other boats and the tethers were undone. Motors purred to
life. The boats turned against the current, spotlights probing the cold and
misty darkness ahead of them.
    After
several minutes of watching the featureless walls slide past, Marianne grew
drowsy with the bobbing of the boat and the steady hum of the motors. No one
spoke. Dr. Norbu sat with his eyes half closed. She began to grow numb with
cold and exhaustion. At last the pills she’d taken in Jomsom were wearing off;
everything had an unreal quality, as if she were observing distant events
through a warped window.
    Unable to
keep her head high any longer, she slumped against the side of the raft.
    No, she
thought. This is not the time .
    She jerked
herself upright again, thinking that she saw light ahead.
    She was
right. The boatman switched off the lantern but this new source of light
persisted, pale as moonglow on the subterranean river. It flooded down from a
gentle slope where a number of coracles rested. Several Tibetans came down to
the stone beach to meet them. She knew, upon seeing them, that this place was a
haven; unlike her nomadic companions, they carried no weapons.
    The camp was
set back a hundred yards from the water; a number of lamps cast a steady glow
over the painted stone walls, but the upper reaches of the cavern remained
dark. Wherever she looked she saw brilliant decorations and religious images
inscribed on the rock. There were enormous Sanskrit syllables surrounded by
bright orange flames. She saw a Buddha the color of lapis lazuli, his dark blue
skin flecked with pyrite that glittered like underground stars. A cinnabar
Maitreya, Buddha of the Future, towered over the camp, sheltering it beneath
his delicately curved fingers.
    Much nearer
were the Tibetans themselves, looking no less fantastic than their icons. The
nomads were wrapped in multicolored outfits, layer upon layer of clothing, long
coats with bright buttons, tasseled caps. They came toward her, bowing and
putting out their tongues to show that they had no sins to hide, no demonic
blackness within them.
    “Gyayum Chenmo,”
said several, bowing and offering scarves to her.
    If she had
accepted the scarves, they would have muffled her and eventually become a
burden. Instead, she smilingly returned the offerings, wrapping the silks back
around the shoulders of the nomads.
    She noticed
a fissure in the rock wall not far beyond the camp, with two men standing
sentry on either side of it. They were tall, broad-shouldered, and