Lhakpa nodded. “After a few months my teachers at Larung Gar discovered my background. They said that I had an obligation to share my knowledge, that Larung Gar was about understanding the spiritual and natural world. There were Bonpo lamas there who were excited by my published teachings on earth science because, they said, I was demonstrating the magic of the earth. I had never thought of it that way but came to realize they were right. The huge anchor mountains they considered sacred were sacred for scientific reasons as well, because they were the source of so many ecosystems and of the headwaters for all the great rivers of Asia. The environmental experts with college degrees were just engaged in a form of worshipful penance, the lamas said, required because so many for so long had forgotten how to respect the earth. One of them declared that the earth has ways of speaking we don’t always understand, and my science was one of the languages of earth magic. I was a bridge, he said, standing in the middle, connecting those who worshipped the earth in these different ways. Then one day a year and a half ago, that lama came to me in the night and began whispering of a place called Gekho’s Roost.”

“So putting on the clothes of a snow monk was an act,” Shan said.

“Not at all. I told you, that was my intention when I went to Larung Gar. Even in Yangkar I was clinging to that dream for a while, before the business here arose. But that lama Tsomo Rabten changed my mind with his stories of Gekho’s home.”

Shan cocked his head. He had heard the name elsewhere. “Tsomo was the lama who died on October 1.”

Lhakpa nodded. “The hour the standing stones came down. His soul was connected to them, Shan, I am convinced of it. He was of the prior generation, who touched wonders that are lost to us now.”

“Was your other niece, Tara, at Larung Gar? Is everything you told me about her a lie?”

Lhakpa drew on his cigarette and blew out a long silvery plume of smoke toward the heavens. “I’m sorry, Shan. Jaya says the goat was sent by the gods to keep me honest. Tara was my niece, yes, but she didn’t die coming back from her school. She did leave her school but had gone to Larung Gar to seek me out and began attending our secret meetings about the Valley of the Gods. She was fiery, a leader who wasn’t shy about declaring that those at Larung Gar owed a broader duty to Tibet.”

“Someone on that Institute team that came to Yangkar recognized you from Larung Gar,” Shan suggested after a moment.