Page 79 of Old Secrets

“I’m sure we can also make certain you meet some Tibetan mastiffs before your return home, although I’m not sure we can procure any of them. That’s not something I’ve looked into, but your husband expressed your disappointment we would not be making use of any sled dogs on this venture. But yes, there are mastiffs used for sledding here. They often serve as guardians and rescue dogs, and they are trained in a variety of tasks. They would have been useful on this leg of the journey, but all will be well. We’re only dealing with rain for now.”

As the vehicles couldn’t fit through the mountainous terrain safely, my father had hidden them within a cavern in the foothills. I had no idea if he’d created the place or if it had always been there, but once all the vehicles were parked safely inside, he’d closed the ground up again to prevent Greenwich from discovering them.

I turned to regard the hill, still visible despite having spent a few hours hiking. “It doesn’t snow this time of year, does it?”

My father shook his head. “Not normally. The ground will frost, for it gets quite cold at night, and sometimes there will be some snow, but we are at a low enough elevation that it is not as bad as it could be. Worry not, my daughter. Soon enough, we’ll be in the cavern system, and the journey becomes easier then. It is still long, but it is easier. I will show you where we can fish, and you will see some of the comforts we have gathered over the years.”

My father had mastered the art of understatement in his life. While he had spoken the truth about the journey being easier, there were fish, and they had massive stockpiles of supplies in the cavern and tunnel system, time clearly meant nothing to him.

I counted days by how many times we slept, and it took us two weeks to make the journey from the entrance to the heart of Mount Everest. Rather than unworked caverns with smoothed trails, we stood before a stone archway. My mother stared at a spot nearby, and she sighed.

“What’s wrong?”

She gestured to a spot of stone. “You were born there, and that is where the rest of your litter died. I was walking as I often do when labor started, hard and swift. They had been standing vigil, aware of the pregnancy and wishing to carry out their plans.”

The turncoats all dropped to their knees and bowed towards the spot, and they chanted something in their language.

Having gotten used to the bowing and the groveling whenever my parents told me something about their past or pointed out a cavern landmark, I ignored them, although the chanting was a new addition to their routine. “What are they saying?”

“They are begging for forgiveness for their sins,” my father stated in a weary tone. “The first part of the prayer is ritualistic, but they will confess all of the sins burdening their souls here. We will wait. We are far ahead of our pursuers, although they have reached the entry of the cavern system. They know the way well, and they’ll make better time than we did. They’ll sleep less and move faster. I’m listening for them.”

My poor father. What had he endured, being able to sense the approach of those essentially enslaving them for their cult? I doubted I would ever understand. Then again, I didn’t need to understand.

I needed to accept that my parents suffered from trauma. I would work around what they needed. I would even sympathize with them.

I didn’t have to understand the specifics.

“What happened to the bodies?” Jake asked in a quiet voice.

My parents sighed, and after an exchange of glances, my mother said, “There is a cavern not far from here with a sinkhole that goes deep into the Earth. We do our ceremonies there, and we leave markers for them. They will be a while, Rabten. I will remain here. Why don’t you show them the burial site?”

“As you wish, my love.” My father stepped back from the crowd, pausing, and staring at Rosalie’s form. He dodged several other turn coats, knelt beside her, and spoke in the same language they chanted in. She rose, and her eyes were wide. “I’ll take this one with us. She can offer their prayers, and we can keep the site sacred.”

My mother nodded and her attention focused on the chanting people.

My father guided us through the cavern and a short distance back through the nearest tunnel. In the dim glow of our lights, I’d missed the branch on our way in, and my father and Jake needed to duck into it, traversing through tight confines for a few minutes before the tunnel opened into a spacious cavern.

“Watch your step. The trail is narrow, and all the stones here represent someone’s grave.” My father brightened the light, and to my horror, the trail was narrow, and countless little piles of stone had been stacked in neat rows.

“Are these all my brothers and sisters?”

“Oh, no, my daughter. This is the graveyard of all our people. We were never plentiful in number. There are many who are the graves of your siblings, but this is our history. Every clan would make the journey to here with the remains of our dead, if possible, and commit them to the Earth here.” My father guided us through the markers, and he gestured to a hole in the cavern floor. “That’s the spot. Rosalie, go no closer, but you may offer your prayers here. You need not bow, but you may if you must.”

“You guided me to sacred ground? Me? But why?”

“I remember you, and I forgave you then, as I do here now. Of them all, you were truly horrified by what you witnessed. You took no joy in what befell us. Your soul shook, but you did not break. Your soul is marked, but it is not I who marked you, nor my wife—nor is it marked for the reason my daughter surely believes.”

Damn it. I did not need more complexity in our situation. I already struggled to wrap my head around everything that had happened. Even the journey itself had tested me in some way or another, forcing me to see the better side of those who had been involved with so many deaths.

The entire trip reinforced their status as victims perverted and twisted into committing atrocities.

“I participated,” Rosalie replied in a quiet voice.

“You did, but only because you wished to protect another’s life,” my father conceded. “You were not given much of a choice at all in what you were forced to become. I know that, you know that, and my daughter knows that as well. What she doesn’t understand is that she was the one who marked you, when she still struggled with her first breaths, because you were the only one there who truly wanted nothing to do with the slaughter of my children. Even then, she saw your soul and found it worthy. It wasn’t my mark you saw on her, Karma. It was yours.”

Thanks to my inability to handle water without a fuss and a high risk of drowning, I’d come to accept there was some form of magic about me, although the news the mark had been mine bothered me. “Why would I have done that?”

“She was forced to hold you while the others killed the rest of our litter. Then they abandoned you to die, in part because little Rosalie asked why kill a baby that was going to die anyway? I think, in a way, she saved your life—because they looked at you, saw you were weak and believed you to be unwell, and decided you weren’t worth the effort of killing. You would die on your own, and that was good enough for them.”