The next morning Jaya insisted Shan ride a horse back to his truck and she accompanied him so she could lead the mount back to their mountain camp. They left under the harsh gaze of four rough-looking Tibetan men, who had arrived in the night, all of whom wore red yarn in their long shaggy hair, marking them as khampa, the fierce, defiant people of the Kham highlands who would probably still be fighting the Chinese if the Dalai Lama hadn’t implored them to stop years earlier. The khampa were filling the packs of half a dozen yaks with artifacts from the hidden cache, assisted by Lhakpa, who packed the more fragile pieces in layers of dried grass. The khampa did not acknowledge either Jaya or Shan as they rode past, other than to pull scarves up to cover half their faces, which suited Shan. He did not want to know who they were or where they were going with the treasures. As he watched them he recalled how Shiva had painted a line of yaks with Buddhas on their backs. How could she have known about the convoys carrying Buddhist treasures?

As they rode, Jaya frequently looked up at the sky. A storm had passed through in the night, but the sky had cleared. He knew she was skittish about the aerial drone, which could reveal their secrets to Public Security. Her worries faded as they began to descend the southern slope of the huge mountain and she spoke to her horse in admiring tones, sometimes even singing old songs from Tibetan horse festivals. She even asked Shan wary questions about Lhasa and asked him to explain what the Olympics were. She reminded him a lot of Yara, another bright, inquisitive woman who had been denied a broader engagement with the world.

“I was honored to meet Yankay last night,” Shan said.

“He seemed…” Jaya tried to find a word, “comfortable with you.”

“I sensed he was somehow sad about being a hail chaser.”

Jaya nodded. “He says his soul is always itching, and he does not know how to scratch it. Sometimes Uncle Yankay says he is just the edge of a sword that can never be sharpened.”

Shan looked at her in surprise. “Your uncle? Yankay and Lhakpa are brothers?” He had not understood the connection between the two men, just as he had not understood Lhakpa’s bitter statement uttered when Shan had described the death of the old lama at the 404th. It should have been me, he had said, as if Lhakpa had wanted to die.