The Path by Rebecca Neason

Author:Rebecca Neason [Neason, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Contemporary, Fantasy, Science Fiction, Fantasy Fiction; American, Adventure Stories, Fantastic Fiction, Tibet (China) - Fiction, Radio and Television Novels, Dalai lamas, MacLeod; Duncan (Fictitious Character), Tibet Autonomous Region (China), Dalai Lamas - Fiction
ISBN: 9780446604567
Publisher: Aspect
Published: 1997-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

* * *

Despite his words to Father Jacques, the Gurkha spy known to Lhasa as Father Edward could not bear to remain in the mission house—not at that moment. Soon he would go back to the game he was playing. He would lock himself away like the good little priest he was supposed to be and pretend to think the pitiful thoughts these men had—if you could call them men. But right now, he strode down the city streets trying to walk off his anger and the frustration he felt. Oh, how he hated this place and hated the life he was living here.

The message he received today had only fed his frustration. Leaving in one week, it had said. Do nothing to jeopardize your position in city. You must open the gates. While we attack, you must strike.

That meant the army was even now preparing. It was gathering arms and provisions, choosing the best horses, sharpening the swords—and he was stuck in this role, pretending to be a man with no blood in his veins.

But his blood ran hot and full, he thought as he reached the city gates still open to the day, and looked down the road on which the army would arrive. He’d almost had her. Mingxia had been ready, eager for his kiss. He had seen it in her eyes. Another few minutes and he would have known the feel of her young body pressed against him.

Then he came—MacLeod, the Nepalese man thought, no longer even trying to keep the anger from his face. He ruined it—but not for long. I swear by mighty Shiva, I’ll kill MacLeod for his interference.

That thought made him smile, the same cruel smile Father Jacques had seen in the garden, as he pictured MacLeod on his knees, beaten, begging for his life. After I have killed the Dalai Lama, I will kill MacLeod—and then the priest, he thought with anticipation. Nasiradeen can have the rest of Lhasa, the rest of Tibet, but these two are mine. They think I’m as weak as they are. They think they can control me—but they’ll soon learn.

The priest says he understands. His thoughts simpered with contempt on the word. Well, before he dies I’ll show him how little he understands of anything. I’ll have Mingxia right in front of him. I’ll take her as I would any warrior’s prize, and I’ll send him to his God with her screams still in his ears.

He laughed out loud; a cruel, bitter sound. Then he turned back into the city. For a few more weeks—three, maybe four—he still had a part to play. He was ready now to resume it, but it would be these thoughts he carried with him, these thoughts that filled the hours of retreat the old man was demanding.

When Nasiradeen and the army arrived, he would be ready to act.

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