Shan went from his truck back to the door of his quarters three times, each time tearing up the note he had left and replacing it with another. Although he had buried his sentiments for years, he had genuine affection for Meng, more than he had ever felt for any woman, but their lives had no overlap. They had almost nothing to share, and now he was not even able to share time with her.

I’m very sorry, he finally wrote. I am glad that you sought me out, but my work demands I be elsewhere. Now that you know where I am, come again, but give me some notice. Be safe.

Shan felt ashamed to leave Meng such a cold, meager note, but he could settle on no other words and his foreboding about Gekho’s Roost would not let him linger.

He sped down the highway, twice dodging antelope in the gray light of early dawn, then slowing after half an hour to find the rough dirt track that Lhakpa had marked on his map. He drove faster than he should on the rutted, uneven road, then realized he was raising a long cloud of dust that could be seen for miles and slowed. After crossing the first of the long ridges that ascended like stairs toward the high mountains, he pulled over and unfolded the charm Shiva had given him in the dark alley outside her door.

The astrologer had looked not simply exhausted but somehow drained, almost battle-weary, as if she had spent the night locked in some war to empower the ancient symbols and words on her paper. He was not surprised that he did not entirely understand the images and shapes she had rendered. Gekho the blue god was in the center. Each of his eight arms on either side extended one of the weapons or tools used in aid of the sacred earth. Along the top right border were goats on a grassy slope, then, in a clockwise sequence were three small hills with a white chorten on the center one, and one of the long woolen caps pilgrims sometimes wore. Next was a pair of what looked like stone pillars with little balls on them with one of the auspicious signs, a parasol, inked below them. In several places on the heavy sheet were bharal, the rare blue sheep of Tibet’s high alpine slopes, and Shan surmised that meant to follow the paths of the bharal. Blue sheep lived on the blue god’s mountain. At the apex, above the god’s head, was a garuda, a sacred bird known to protect the gods, and though it had its wings extended for flight, its talons seemed rooted in the mountain, as if made of stone. To the left of the great bird was a line of yaks, each with a tiny glowing Buddha riding on its back.