Kingdom of the Golden Dragon (Memories of the Eagle and the Jaguar #2)(8)

At the end of his short meditation, Tensing washed his hands, then went to one of the corrals. There he picked out a female chegno and milked it. He filled his bowl with warm, foaming milk, and carried it back to the infants. He wet a rag in the milk and placed it to the lips of one of the babies. At first the child did not react, but after a few seconds the smell of the milk stirred it; its lips opened, and it began weakly to suck the rag. The lama gestured to the mothers that they should imitate him.

It was a long and tedious process to teach the Yetis to milk the chegnos and to feed the babies drop by drop. The Yetis had a minimal capacity for reasoning, but they were able to learn by repetition. The master and the disciple spent the whole day on the project, and they saw the results that same night when three of the babies cried for the first time. The next day all five were crying, asking for milk, and soon they opened their eyes and were able to move.

Dil Bahadur felt as proud as if the solution had been his idea, but Tensing didn't stop there. He had to find an explanation. He studied everything the Yetis put in their mouths without coming upon the cause of their distress. Then he and his disciple themselves began to suffer stomach pains and vomit bile, although they had eaten only their usual tsampa. They hadn't tried the chegno meat the Yetis offered them, because they were vegetarians.

"What have we eaten that is different, Dil Bahadur—the one thing?" the master asked as he prepared a medicinal tea for their digestion.

"Nothing, master," the youth replied, pale as death.

"It has to be something," Tensing insisted.

"All we have eaten is our tsampa, not a bite of anything else…" the prince murmured.

Tensing passed the bowl with the tea to Dil Bahadur, who, doubled over with pain, put it to his lips. But he stopped short before he swallowed, spitting the liquid into the snow.

"The water, master! It's the hot water!"

Normally they boiled water or snow to prepare their , tsampa and their tea, but in the valley they had been using the boiling water from one of the many thermal springs bubbling from the ground.

"That's what is poisoning the Yetis, master," the prince insisted.

They had seen them use the lavender-colored water from the thermal spring to make the soup of mushrooms, herbs, and purple flowers that served as the basis of their diet. Grr-ympr, however, had lost her appetite over the years, and every two or three days she ate only a little raw meat; when she was thirsty she stuffed handfuls of snow into her mouth. The thermal water—which obviously contained toxic minerals—was what they themselves had used to brew their tea. For the next few hours they avoided it completely, and the discomfort that had been tormenting them ended. To be certain that they had found the source of the problem, the next day Dil Bahadur brewed tea with the suspected water and drank it. He was soon vomiting, but happy to have proved his theory.

Practicing great patience, the lama and his disciple informed Grr-ympr that the lavender-colored water must be strictly prohibited, along with the purple flowers that grew on the banks of the stream. The thermal water could be used for bathing but not for drinking or preparing food, they told her. They didn't bother to explain that it contained harmful minerals, because the ancient Yeti would not have understood; it would be enough that the Yetis would honor her instructions. Grr-ympr made her task easy. She called her subjects together and notified them of a new law: Anyone who drank that water would be thrown into a fumarole. Understood? They all understood.

The tribe helped Tensing and Dil Bahadur collect the medicinal plants they needed. Throughout the week they stayed in the Valley of the Yetis, the visitors were able to watch the babies' health improve every day and see that the adults were growing stronger in direct ratio to how fast the purple faded from their tongues.

Grr-ympr personally accompanied the lama and his disciple when the moment came to leave. She watched them start in the direction of the canyon they'd come through when they arrived. After some hesitation, because she feared revealing the Yeti's secrets even to these gods, she motioned that they should follow her in the opposite direction. For more than an hour the lama and the prince walked behind her along a narrow path that wove among the columns of vapor and pools of boiling water, leaving the primitive village of the Yetis behind.

The sorceress led them to the edge of the volcanic plain, pointed to an opening in the mountain, and told them that from time to time the Yetis used that pass to go out in search of food. Tensing understood what she was telling them: This was a shortcut in the form of a natural tunnel. The mysterious valley was much closer to civilization than anyone had supposed. The parchment Tensing carried with him indicated the only route known to the lamas, which was much longer and filled with many more obstacles, but no one knew of this secret pass. As he found its location on the parchment, Tensing realized that the tunnel descended straight down into the mountain and came out near Chenthan Dzong, the ruined monastery. This route would save them two-thirds of their original trek.

Grr-ympr bid them farewell in the only way she knew how to show affection: She licked their faces and hands until they were wet with saliva and mucus.

The instant the horrible priestess turned to start back, Dil Bahadur and Tensing rolled in the snow to cleanse themselves. The master was laughing, but the disciple was barely able to keep from throwing up.

"Our only consolation is that we will never see that fine lady again," the youth commented.