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  Suddenly, from behind, the smell of curry assailed Amit’s nostrils and raised an interior wall. He’d long ago learned to shut Rafi out, to deny access to his internal buttons.

  “Urchins,” said a rough voice.

  Amit did not turn. He could feel Rafi’s broad-shouldered form behind him like a dreadnought. He pretended he couldn’t hear. Rafi had long ago ceased being able to make his way under Amit’s skin — the toughness Amit had developed after Woo’s departure forced the ability into place — but to replace his earlier animosity, Rafi had developed a rough species of acrimonious companionship. He would talk to Amit as a friend, then use the time to belittle and insult him. It only bothered Amit because it wasted his time.

  For some reason, Rafi’s voice and breath did bother Amit today.

  “I don’t know why the town thinks it can dump its trash up here,” said Rafi. “We have isolated ourselves, but they cannot take a hint that we do not wish to associate with them.”

  “Look at them, you fool.” An old edge returned to Amit’s voice. “They have climbed a mountain. They have been sent to find Woo. They have done so for a reason, and it is not random or arbitrary.”

  Rafi scoffed. “Woo. If I knew where he was, I’d send you to him.”

  Amit blinked back both insults. Many of those Amit had grown up with had vanished over the past years, and everyone seemed to feel that they’d gone to wherever Woo had gone, as if summoned. Even Amala — she of the long fingernails who would not hurt a cobra intent on killing her — had left. Yet Amit — Woo’s sole protégé — had heard nothing. And if the others knew anything of Woo or his whispered summons, they harbored their silence. Monks were excellent at keeping secrets.

  “If she wants help,” said Rafi, “she should tell the abbot why she’s here.”

  Amit turned and met Rafi’s pocked skin and ugly expression. He wanted to tell him that the girl was clearly too terrified to say anything, but that seemed insulting — not to Rafi, but to her.

  Amit walked away from Rafi. He reached the girl and her brother. She finally noticed him as he came alongside the abbot and turned her big, wet eyes on him. Amit was almost afraid to meet them; something inside him had become unhinged. He was suddenly terrified of losing his closely held control.

  The girl reached out and, without asking or being offered, took Amit’s hand between hers.

  “Please,” she said, staring into his soul. “We must stay here. We must stay with you! We need your protection.”

  “Why?” asked Suni. “Why are you here? What has happened? What did you wish to tell Woo? I am the abbot here. You can tell me whatever you needed to tell him.”

  The girl didn’t look toward Suni. The denial to move her eyes didn’t feel rude, nor did it feel like she was clinging to Amit as her only savior. It felt bold, as if she heard him, but was taking control of the only decision that still belonged to her: the choice about who would hear her appeal.

  “I cannot tell you why I am here.” She stared deep into Amit’s eyes. “In time, once I know who I can trust, I will try. But there is too much I’m afraid of. Not just for me, but for Sameer.” She took a hand away from Amit’s and he felt a strange loss. The hand went to the boy’s shoulder.

  “Why do you seek Woo?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “Then how could we possibly help you anyway?” Suni demanded.

  The girl continued looking into Amit’s eyes as she answered the abbot. “Please. Just keep us. We are in danger. I cannot say why. Hide us. We cannot go back. We … ” Her resolve started to falter, and a single tear ran down her cheek, refreshing an old track on her dirty face. She drew the boy closer and hugged him to her side, blinking the tear away and firming something inside her. Amit saw himself, and Woo, in the gesture. She had made a decision to master her fear rather than being mastered by it. “ … We cannot go home.”

  The boy beside her wiped his eyes and sniffed. Amit saw him and looked down. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rafi make a whole-body gesture that amounted to a rolling of his eyes. He could feel the same impression radiating from the abbot, and pushed it away with his mind. He knelt in the dirt before the boy and waited until he looked up, his eyes moist.

  “Your name is Sameer?”

  The boy nodded.

  “You are taking good care of your sister.”

  “Nisha.” He nodded again.

  “Sometimes, there are things you cannot say. Secrets you must keep.” Unbidden, Amit thought of his mother, and the trauma inside him that he could never bury. “And sometimes there are harmful things that you may not wish to discuss, even if they are not quite secrets. Am I correct?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Sameer,” he said. “My name is Amit. I am a monk. That means I spend all day every day thinking. We learn things, as monks. Such as ways to treat what’s within us. Ways to wash them clean. To bury them — not in the sense of pushing them away, but by putting them to rest. Would you like me to show you what I mean?”

  Again, the boy nodded. A delicate hand laid on Amit’s shoulder, unseen, from above.

  He stood, then met Suni’s eyes. The look said more than his mouth. The abbot almost took a step back, then simply blinked and looked away.

  Amit looked back down at the boy, and held out his hand.

  The boy took it.

  “Then come, and I will teach you.”

  Chapter 20

  EVERYONE WELCOMED AMIT WITH WARM nods as he entered the monastery. It had been too long. Words weren’t necessary. He knew these men and women, and they knew him. Pleasantries were for civilians. Their bond was a matter of souls. Except that apparently — unbeknownst to the monks themselves — theirs was also a bond forged from the blood of others.

  Amit easily found the abbot. There was a meditation path arranged in a meandering spiral at the compound’s north end, where the hill was high enough to see past the distant wall as if it were well below. The spot was beautiful, and had been one of Amit’s favorites during his years at the monastery, being trained as a killer without his knowledge or permission.

  The abbot was in his late 60s and wore his robe so long it actually brushed the path’s crushed rock as he walked. It looked as if he had no feet, as if he were a human-sized doll in a gown, floating mysteriously along. His robe didn’t really sway as he walked, enhancing the illusion. His hands were lightly clasped in front of his waist, and he was looking down, lost in thought. His bald head had no trace of stubble, and Amit wondered if the man was actually bald.

  Realizing the transgression, Amit stepped over the small green rows that divided the winding path’s adjacent sections and stood in the abbot’s way. The old man’s concentration was so complete, he nearly ran into Amit before seeing he was there.

  The abbot looked up, but did not show surprise.

  Amit had fallen in love (against the rules), had left the compound without so much as requesting permission or saying his farewells (against convention), and had gone on a rampage (against the supposed code). The monastery was isolated, but word of the outside world filtered up into the mountains when relevant — such as when one of the order defected and took matters of revenge into his own hands.

  “Ah, Amit.” A small, pleasant smile creased Suni’s wrinkled face. He put his palms against one another and made a slight bow, gaze down. “Namaste.”

  Amit returned the bow and greeting. He was fairly certain he’d have to kill the abbot, but it was still nice to see him. A soul was a soul, the day itself beautiful and calm. It was hard to be rude, to deny himself the pleasant nature of interpersonal exchange following the realization of a horrible truth.

  “You have been busy,” said the abbot.

  “Yes. And I have been thinking.”

  “That is good. Because from what I have heard, you have not thought much of what you’ve done.” Suni’s old nature finally resurfaced, and Amit saw the same disapproving glint he’d seen through his youth. The abbot had never liked him. A
ccording to Woo, he’d actively opposed taking him into the compound as a child, and had tried repeatedly to send him away. Nothing Amit had ever done growing up had pleased Suni, and it seemed that little had changed since.

  “You do not approve.”

  “You have stepped outside our guidelines. You have exposed yourself, along with the true nature of what and who we are. You have acted out of ego, because you believed you knew better than the universe. You have doled out karma as if you were … ”

  “ … a Sri elder?” Amit interrupted. He gave a small smile, to dull the interruption.

  Something shifted in the abbot’s brown eyes, almost vanishing into his wrinkles. Amit got a mental image of a cloak being dropped to the floor. The cloak was made of pretense and lies, and the abbot had let it go.

  “So, you know.”

  Amit nodded.

  “How?”

  “There is much in the wide world to stimulate a man’s senses.”

  “And a woman’s?” Amit saw the jab for what it was: a knock on Nisha, whom the abbot had also never approved of, whom he’d also wanted to shove into the cold.

  Amit ignored the insult. “I have come to right wrongs.”

  “As I have concluded,” said Suni. “But you will not find them here.”

  “I will not find wrongs?”

  “You will not find satisfaction.”

  Amit shifted his weight. He wasn’t afraid of being taken off guard and there was no need to prepare himself to fight, yet he felt restless nonetheless. Nisha’s blood still felt fresh on his hands, and this man, who’d been with both him and Nisha all along, was the reason for its spilling.

  “I think I will.”

  The abbot re-clasped his hands. His robe’s long arms fell from his wrists and touched, making him appear to have one long blue tube running from shoulder to shoulder. He brushed by Amit and resumed his walk. Amit stepped to the next row and walked beside Suni, feeling the same condescended disadvantage he’d felt through a lifetime in the abbot’s presence.

  “That has always been your problem, Amit,” said Suni, pacing and watching the path. “You have always believed that you know best. We are an order, and are supposed to be brothers. But you have never acted as one. You ignore the wisdom of others when that wisdom contradicts what you believe. You ignore the others when their wisdom contradicts what you want. From the time you were a child, you allowed your desires to command you rather than what you believed. You would engage in fights not because you thought they were correct or right, but because you wanted to fight. Even Woo would tell you, ‘Amit, think first,’ but you would not. If you thought, you would see that fighting was the wrong way, and you did not want to see what was at odds with your desire to fight. Even today, you have craved your revenge. Is it what you believe is right? Perhaps, perhaps not. It does not matter.”

  “You never thought I was worthy to be Sri.”

  The abbot shook his head. “You could not master yourself.”

  “I trained. For decades, I trained.”

  “Yes, you trained,” said Suni, still looking down. “But does training for years to play a violin with a bow make it correct to play with a fork?”

  Amit stepped in front of the abbot again, and again the abbot stopped. His old eyes looked up into Amit’s young ones.

  “I will have my vengeance against the order.”

  “You cannot fight us all,” said the abbot, not like a threat. He said it almost sadly, with a resigned shake of his head.

  “I do not want to fight everyone. I want to fight you.”

  The abbot’s expression did not change.

  “What will it solve to fight me?”

  “It will give me satisfaction.”

  “How?”

  Amit felt his anger rising. It was a betrayal. His emotions were doing exactly what Suni had just said they always did and what they should not do. His anger was proving the abbot correct: Maybe he hadn’t learned any of his lessons. Really, what good would it do to fight him? Nisha was still dead. Amit wasn’t sure any of it was logical at all. Perhaps he was obeying his desires instead of his beliefs, and had been all along.

  He shoved Suni in the chest, furious more at himself than the abbot. He was reaching deep into the annals of Amit’s mind, plucking strings that no one could pluck. Suni had had nearly 20 years to learn Amit’s psyche — and, apparently, to pick out all the ways it was wrong. Nobody could touch Amit, normally. But the abbot was always his superior. Facing him now made Amit a boy with fury and nowhere to vent.

  “You will fight like a commoner? Without honor?”

  “I will fight until you are dead.” Amit pushed the abbot again.

  Suni’s hands were still clasped, still concealed by the robe, still useless. He’d barely faltered on the path, as if he’d known Amit would push him.

  Suni shook his head. “You have learned nothing.”

  That was ludicrous, given his meditations on the flight overseas. “On the contrary, Abbot. I have learned a great deal.”

  Amit moved to shove him, but the abbot twisted away. Amit’s hand brushed past the front of his robe. Suni squeezed his upper arm against his ribs, trapping Amit’s hand. The attempted shove had put him off balance. He stumbled a step, and the abbot’s bare foot struck Amit in the back of the neck, hard, pushing him down onto the crushed rocks below.

  “Get up,” said the abbot. “You are lying on some of my favorite orchids.”

  Amit looked down and saw that he was smashing a small but beautiful clutch of snow-white blossoms, tearing their delicate petals and turning them instantly translucent. He stood, hardened his resolve, and reached out to grab the abbot’s robe. He grasped it hard by the lapels with his left hand. He had both, holding the robe firm, and had fully launched a three-finger strike when the abbot ducked, slipped his arms and body from the robe, and, from the ground, pistoned upward to deliver a blow just under Amit’s diaphragm.

  Amit coughed and stepped backward.

  The now-nude abbot snatched his robe back with a gesture filled with irritation. “You are embarrassing yourself,” he said, pulling on his robe. “As always.”

  “We have a score to settle.”

  “And you will never settle it this way. To think, you questioned my assertion that you are not worthy to be among us. Look at you. I am an old man, yet I am making you look like a fool. You are plenty strong in your body. But you are slow up here.” The abbot tapped two fingers to the side of his head. “Undirected emotion makes you weak. Predictable. I can see what you’re going to do even now. You wasted all you were taught. I agree with Woo on one thing: Your skills were always extraordinary. Physically, you were and probably remain remarkable. You have twitch responses that the rest of us, even with decades of practice, have never been able to bring under voluntary control. Speed, accuracy, crush grip — all outstanding. But useless without the mind to control them. Woo thought for a long time that you were a special student, and that you should advance to our highest honors. But even he realized the folly of his thought. Even he abandoned you.”

  “Woo did not abandon me. You abandoned him.”

  Suni looked at Amit for a long, quiet second. Then his smile returned.

  “You want to kill me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Because you know of the shadow monks’ role as assassins. As swords for karma.”

  It was mildly surprising to hear the abbot say it aloud. Suni had out-thought him at every step during this humiliating encounter. Rage betrayed his every thought like a flashing red light.

  “Because you have manipulated us. Because you’ve been turning us into killers without our permission. Brainwashing us into believing we were doing right, then turning us toward doing the bidding of criminals in the interest of profit.”

  The abbot laughed.

  “Your foolishness knows no bounds, Amit.” He didn’t sound condescending. It was almost as if they shared a joke that both should find hilarious. Amit was supposed to
slap his palm to his forehead, agree, and laugh along. It filled him with even more fury. He wanted more than ever to strike at the abbot’s throat, to rip Suni’s voice box from his neck and leave a dripping red hole filled with tendons and gore.

  “It is true,” said Amit. “Don’t insult me by denying it.”

  “Oh, it’s all true,” said Suni. “But your quarrel is with Woo.”

  Chapter 21

  THERE WAS ANOTHER MOUNTAIN IN the chain, not distant, where the Sri order made its true home. The abbot knew where it was in general, but had no knowledge of specifics. He could have found out, but did not wish to know.

  “There are things I can control and things I cannot,” he told Amit. “This, I cannot.”

  It was too fatalistic a perspective for Amit, and the abbot mocked even his conviction that he could affect change.

  “You do not understand, Amit,” he said, his voice ripe with a surprising understanding. “The entanglement has become too large.”

  Once Amit had stopped fighting and they’d settled down to tea, Suni’s manner had immediately softened. He pitied Amit, the former monk thought, but that was better than condescending to him. He could work with pity. Pity would allow the abbot to help, because he’d know that all was lost, that Amit would only harm himself, but that nothing could be helped.

  “What do you mean, ‘The entanglement has become too large’?”

  “You think this is about a sensei who went bad. You see it as your job to find the rotten sensei and his recruited monks so you can eradicate them like a nest of spiders. But it is not so simple, Amit. As you have been too stupid to see through your time here, karma does not understand ‘good’ and ‘bad.’ Karma understands the spin of its own wheel. Woo believes he is doing what is right. The organization has funded us from the beginning, since even before we knew it. Because they had plans, too. By the time they started pulling strings — we were on land they owned; they had leaders with spiritual understanding among them; they pointed out that we were bred to kill, whether we did so or not, and hence could argue that killing was in our dharma. They knew enough to give us choice. If they’d forced our hand, we would have fought, and won. If they’d pressed, we’d have done our homework earlier, and learned that they were not just on the edge of society, but actively brewing chaos within it. But they did not force, or press. They allowed us to grow and paid for our needs. They left us alone. Through my youth, it was like having benefactors. They began to persuade a few of the elders. The ‘sword of the righteous’ argument is compelling, because no one else could right the wrongs that we could. The elders began to subtly persuade others. It happened slowly, and in many ways, we were blind to it all, because we were allowed to do as we wished, free from interference.