“Idiot! It’s just some oil or gas!” Jiao snapped. “Get back to work!” he shouted and stepped toward the objects.

“Don’t,” Shan warned as he picked up the scimitar.

“A sham!” Jiao crowed and bent the old dance prop over his knee. He gestured for the cleanup crew to help clear away the objects. The first man made the mistake of kicking at the burning, tarry object. Flaming black blobs spurted onto his leg and instantly his shoe and trousers ignited. An awed murmur swept through the crowd as he frantically tried to rub out the flames with his hand and blue flames spread onto his fingers. He shouted, then screamed, and as two of his coworkers began pulling off his trousers another ran for a fire extinguisher in their truck.

Shan realized the director had retreated behind Tan to stand among the colonel’s soldiers.

“Remove that trash now!” Jiao shouted at the cleanup crew, who now also seemed unwilling to approach the god’s implements. Not a man moved. “You ignorant fools! They are props in a game!”

“No,” Shan said in a slow, reverent voice. “The objects used in the old rituals like those weapons”—he pointed to the sword and scimitar—“could be called props at first but after the god touches them they have power.”

Jiao sneered at Shan and pointed to the ruined cave on the slope above them. “The god is dead! We killed him!”

A worker bravely went forward to the boulder as the flames went out and pushed a tentative finger into the liquid that remained. He lifted his finger to his nose and smelled it. “Not oil or gas!” he announced. He licked his finger. “Water! It’s a miracle!”

An excited murmur rippled through the crowd, and despite Jiao’s protests, another man went forward, then a third. They each touched the water, then with radiant smiles dabbed it onto their foreheads.

“The god’s not dead!” came a voice from the crowd of Tibetans. “Just angry at what you have done! This is his valley!”

Jiao spun about to face the workers. “Who said that?” he thundered. “Arrest that man!” When none of the soldiers or cleanup crew moved, Tibetans surged forward around the boulder, reverently anointing themselves with the blessing water. The deputy director darted to Huan, who produced a small device with an antenna extending from it. Jiao pointed triumphantly up the slope to the yellow flags above the mouth of the cave, then seized the device and pressed a button.

Shan shuddered and took an involuntary step backward. But the caches did not explode. They simply emitted small puffs of white smoke.

“No, no no!” Jiao shouted as he pounded the button again and again.

The explosives were gone. Shan had not been sure if Yeshe the Tibetan demolition expert would have had the strength to work on the slope the night before, but Shan recalled that he had had several strong companions.