"But you were in Lhasa and brought the chenyi stone to the hermitage," Shan suggested.

Nyma shook her head. "I was working in our valley," she said enigmatically. "One day our oracle spoke about a Chinese returning the eye. I thought she meant the army would bring it back one day. Only afterwards, when I went to speak about it with some purbas, did I know the eye had already been recovered from those who had stolen it from us."

Our oracle. The nun spoke as if every community still had its oracle. But until arriving at the hermitage, Shan could not recall ever having heard a Tibetan speak of an active oracle. Even Lokesh, who clung so steadfastly to tradition, spoke of oracles as part of some distant past.

The nun looked inquiringly toward the black cloud, which was nearly over them now. Dremu watched it too, with suspicious, worried eyes, and retreated deeper into the cave. "I spoke about what the oracle said, and later Drakte sought me out and asked me many questions, all about the eye and the village. Later people came and took me to the hermitage."

Shan studied Tenzin, who had stepped forward to study the strange cloud, then turned back to Nyma. "Why would the purbas be so interested in returning the eye?"

The nun shrugged again and cast a small frown toward Shan. She was speaking of things that seldom were spoken out loud. "The purbas want justice," she ventured. "It is the right thing to do."

There was a rumble of wind- not thunder, but a roaring rush of air that brought an abrupt darkening, as if night had fallen. Hail began to drop, small kernels at first, but soon balls nearly half an inch in diameter. The nun nodded toward the sky, as though she understood some secret about the hailstorm. Lokesh stared back at the tunnel that extended toward the heart of the mountain, where the local earth deity might live.

Sometimes in Tibet hailstorms came with such violence and such large stones that crops were destroyed in seconds, people even killed. The Tibetans treated such deaths with particular reverence, as if the victim had been summoned by a sky deity for a special purpose. Shan extended his hand out into the storm. The hail stung his palm but he kept it extended, collecting the stones.

At his side he sensed Nyma moving, and turned to see her trying to pull Tenzin back from outside the cave. The tall Tibetan had removed his coat and stepped into the open, bending his back to the storm, protected only by his thin shirt, letting the stones lash at him. A sudden gust whipped stones into Shan's face, stinging his cheeks. He dropped the hail in his hand and retreated into the cave. Sometimes it was difficult not to believe in the earth deities.

But, incredibly, Tenzin pulled away as the nun reached for him, stepping further into the storm and kneeling, curling his head into his knees, his hands wrapped around his neck. It was as though he were being flogged, as though he were inviting the deities to punish him. Tenzin seemed to understand something about the storm as well, but it was different than what Nyma sensed. Or perhaps the secret Tenzin understood, Shan thought, was just about himself.

As she pulled at Tenzin's shoulder, Shan ran toward the nun and grabbed Tenzin's other shoulder. Together they dragged him inside. He did not seem to notice their grip at first, then looked at them with wild, surprised eyes. His shirt was torn, and there were several tiny red spots where the stones had pierced his skin.

As Nyma wrapped Tenzin's chuba around his shoulders, Dremu gasped in fright and pointed into the storm. An unearthly wail rolled down the slope, and a wraith-like shape emerged through the greyness, a figure mounted on a small black horse. The rider was hunched over in the saddle, the horse galloping, futilely trying to escape the hail. The sound was the crying of the horse as the stones pummeled its flesh. Shan sensed Nyma shudder, then retreat deeper into the cave, followed quickly by the other Tibetans. But Shan took a step forward, watching in fear. The animal, its rider limp in the saddle, could run off a ledge in such a frenzy. He pulled his hat low and darted into the storm. The horse whinnied louder as it saw him, then slowed as Shan extended a hand. A moment later, one hand on the bridle, Shan was running back to cover with the frantic creature.

The rider was a woman, although the cuts and welts on her face made it difficult to discern her features. Blood mixed with rain streaked down her face. She was not unconscious, but her wild, unblinking eyes were little different than those of the inconsolable horse, who paced back and forth among the other mounts, its flanks quivering, unwilling to be touched.

Then the woman glimpsed Shan and she clamped her hand around his arm. "I found them, those herders you needed to know about." Shan recognized the weary voice, and the braided red cloth she wore around her head. It was the dropka woman from the ridge, the guard who had blamed herself for letting the dobdob through to Drakte. Lokesh gently wiped the blood from her cheeks. "They had a terrible fright," the woman gasped. "There was just an old man and woman, with a small herd and dogs," she said. "They never saw Drakte, they said, but an old lama was with them, just for the night, and he was attacked." Tears mixed with the blood that still trickled down her face. She forced a smile for Lokesh as he wiped her cheek again, then continued. "The knobs want that lama. They have been chasing him, those herders say."

"What lama?" Shan asked in alarm, leaning over her. Surely she did not mean Gendun, or Shopo, both of whom had been in the hermitage the night before.

The dropka shook her head. "I don't know. Those old people didn't make sense, they were so scared. They were shy of speaking about him. A ghost lama, they called him. Sometimes ghosts are real, they said. They were very upset. The lama disappeared before dawn. The old man said the knobs must have taken him. But the woman insisted otherwise. She said ghosts always fade away when the sun rises."

The wind blew harder, screeching around the outcropping. The woman stared at her palm, where a drop of blood had fallen. Shan looked up in surprise, searching for its source, then she lifted a trembling hand and touched his cheek, her fingers coming away bloody.

"You're injured," she said softly.

"It's only hail," Shan said.

The woman's eyes cleared, and she pulled away the rag Lokesh was using to clean her own face to clean Shan's. "I didn't understand," she continued. "But you said you needed to know. I had to find you, because of the danger it may mean for the eye." She paused and clenched Shan's arm again. "It was knobs who wounded Drakte, it must have been. Our Drakte, he would have fought knobs to protect a lama." She twisted to see her horse. "And that," she said, pointing to the crude wooden saddle. "I wanted you to have it. We couldn't keep it because those knobs are coming and maybe some night that thing…" She swallowed hard and looked away, as though unable to speak of the dobdob.

Shan stood and lifted a pouch from the saddle, the pouch Drakte had carried to the hermitage the night before, the pouch with the sling and ledger book.

Suddenly the storm was over. The air cleared, and sunlight burst across the barren landscape. But the woman's words hung over them like a portent of another, far worse storm.

Nyma looked to Dremu, as if expecting him to lead them on. But the Golok was gazing with hooded eyes, shifting from the dropka woman to her horse to Tenzin. When he felt the nun's stare he forced a thin smile, then ventured around the corner of the rock with the field glasses. "Soldiers kneeling on the hood of the truck," he reported a moment later. "Maybe the windshield was shattered. They'll probably give up for the day."