The Path (21 page)

As was so often the case after a morning with the Dalai Lama, Duncan was thoughtful as he walked through the streets of Lhasa.
The sights and sounds, once so new to him, had become familiar friends, easing into his mind unnoticed and setting him at
rest.

As always, the Dalai Lama had given him a lesson that contained layer upon layer of meaning. He struggled to fit it into the
context of his life, past and future. It was easy to speak of peace here in Tibet, easy to imagine the luxury of living, at
least for a time, as mortals do with the homes and families—no swords, no Game.

But Duncan MacLeod was no fool. He knew he could not replace reality with a dream. Immortals who tried soon lost their heads.

Even if they stayed in Tibet for all of Xiao-nan’s lifetime, how long could that be? A few decades, if they were lucky, and
Duncan knew he would not stay without her. After she died, and he moved on, the Game would close in again—if it had not found
him already.

But perhaps
, he thought as he neared her house,
by then the path between who I am and who I want to be will be clearer
.

“It takes many lifetimes,” he could hear the Dalai Lama’s voice speaking the familiar words.
Mine or hers?
Duncan thought in reply.

Then she opened the door to welcome him, and he put all other thoughts to rest.

“I did not expect you so early in the day, my Duncan,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him inside. “The Dalai Lama,
he is well?”

“Aye,” Duncan answered. “Very well. My head is still spinning with all the things he said.”

“That is good, my Duncan.”

MacLeod laughed. “Why is it everyone here seems to find my confusion such a good thing. Everyone but me, that is.”

“If you are confused, then you are
listening
, and you are hearing with more than your ears,” Xiao-nan replied. “Understanding will come. You must be patient, my Duncan.”

Duncan smiled as he watched her—her eyes, so calm and so serious, her low voice holding that breathless quality he found so
enchanting.

“Why do you smile at me in such a way,” she asked him. “Do my words make you laugh?”

Still smiling, Duncan shook his head. “No, sweetheart,” he said. “It is just that I am delighted by each thing that you say
and do. And just then your words echoed what His Holiness told me this morning.”

“Then they are words to which you should listen.”

“I will always listen,” he assured her. “To His Holiness, but most of all to you. Now, are you ready to go shopping? I’m sure
the merchants have opened their stalls.”

“Shh,” Xiao-nan said quickly, the look in her dark eyes suddenly sparking with mischief. “I’ve not told where we are going.
I want your gifts to be a surprise for my parents.”

Duncan nodded and opened the door for her.
Oh, I doubt they’ll be surprised
, he thought as they stepped out into the day.
I doubt it very much
.

Duncan had only visited the market once, during his first exploration of the city, and he was surprised by how large it was
and how busy.

It was a permanent market, where the people of the city could come year-round to buy or barter for goods. Two-story buildings
that housed the family home upstairs and the shop below, crowded near each other, creating a jumble of alleyways down which
children and dogs played. Once a year, Xiao-nan told him as they walked down a street redolent with cooking food, spices,
and incense, people from the outlying villages came to Lhasa for a big bazaar, to barter their goods in exchange for others.

“It is not for several weeks yet,” she told him. “It is from the middle of the ninth month until the beginning of the tenth.
Many, many people come to Lhasa then, and it is a happy time. Each night there are big bonfires where people gather to sing
and tell tales. Each day the trading goes on both here and outside the city gates, where the visitors have their tents. Maybe
your friends from among the high nomads will come. You will see them again, and I will be able to thank them for the care
they showed to my Duncan.”

She smiled at him, her eye shining with happiness, and Duncan wanted to take her in his arms, but he could not do so here
in the marketplace. They might hold hands, even share a quick kiss or embrace on the streets near her home where the only
eyes to see them were those of family and close neighbors. But until their engagement was officially known, public displays
of physical affection were improper.

Duncan understood and accepted his, though he found it difficult to be so near Xiao-nan and not touch her. Xiao-nan found
ways around the stricture, occasionally laying a hand on his arm or leaning against him softly while pointing out the wares
for sale in the shops they passed.

The variety of goods was astonishing. Coppersmiths and blacksmiths offered everything from tools to cooking utensils. Silversmiths
offered drinking bowls and serving trays, fine jewelry and incense burners. There were stalls of bright hand-tied rugs, finely
woven blankets, merchants selling bolts of cloth and others selling garments, many covered with delicate embroidery. There
were spice merchants with bins of clove and cinnamon, ginger, cardamom, and pepper and sellers of candles and incense who
kept samples of their wares burning, sending soft clouds of fragrant smoke over the area.

And there was food—everywhere, cooked and uncooked, staples and delicacies. There were vats of hot soup filled with noodles
and vegetables, trays of steaming pies, displays of colorful fruits and vegetables as well as merchants selling staples such
as
tampsa
, the ground barley flour that was in nearly everything, butter, oil, honey, and rice. There were even a few vendors selling
long strips of dried meats. The sight surprised Duncan; he had assumed from his talks with the Dalai Lama and the meals he
had eaten here in Lhasa, that only the nomads ate meat and only out of necessity.

“Oh no,” Xiao-nan told him, herself surprised by his reaction.
“Although few in the city eat it regularly, there are many dishes made for special occasions that include meat. Some will
be served at our wedding. My favorite is
momo
, the spiced meat dumpling. My mother’s are the best in the city. You will like them, and I will cook them for you after I
am your wife.”

Duncan found himself touched by her words, by her pride in her mother’s talents, but most of all, by the note of eagerness
in her voice when she spoke of such a small thing as cooking their meals. It reminded Duncan of how very young she was—not
in the standards of her culture, but in their vast disparity of years.

They walked through the marketplace once while Xiao-nan enjoyed showing him its sights. Then they walked back through again,
this time more slowly, shopping in earnest. They found the
natag
bowl and pestle at a woodcrafter’s stand. It was a beautiful piece of work, carved out of cherry burl and inlaid with coils
of bright copper. MacLeod would have happily paid full price, but Xiao-nan stopped him. She haggled the purchase with practiced
ease.

For her mother, they found a set of porcelain drinking bowls that were a soft creamy yellow color, the color of joy Xiao-nan
told him, with little bluebirds, the symbol of good fortune, done in enamelwork around them. Duncan picked one up and held
it to the sunlight. It seemed to him as delicate as eggshells.

Duncan himself picked out a silver comb for Mingxia’s hair, though Xiao-nan insisted again that such a gift was unnecessary.
When she was not looking, he also purchased a pair of silver and ruby earrings he thought would suit her, not bothering to
bargain the price in his haste to keep the purchase secret.

The packages they carried back to Xiao-nan’s home had been wrapped in sheets of thin paper and tied with red ribbon. They
were cheerful-looking, and Xiao-nan was pleased by them, but Duncan could not help thinking of the paper arts he had seen
in Japan and wishing he had taken time to learn something of them he could use now. Instead, as they walked back down the
city streets, Duncan picked a few blossoms from overhanging trees and arranged those as best he could beneath the ribbons.

After the busyness of the marketplace, Xiao-nan’s home seemed unusually silent. The family was outside in the garden, eating
the afternoon meal in the soft, fragrant shade. Xiao-nan
arranged the packages to her satisfaction on the small table in the center of the main room. Then, before she went to call
her family, she stepped into the circle of Duncan’s arms.

“Have you thought about what you will say to my father?” she asked after a kiss that was made all the more sweet by the hours
they had been together, unable to touch. “My mother and sister will be easy to convince we should marry, but my father will
think it his duty to be more severe.”

“Don’t worry,” he told her, kissing the little frown between her brows. “I’m sure your father and I will come to an understanding
soon enough.”

Smiling at his confidence, Xiao-nan went happily off to gather her family. Standing alone in the room, Duncan found he was
suddenly more nervous than he expected.
You’re four times the age of her father
, he told himself—and to his amusement he realized that he could face another Immortal with a sword with more equanimity than
he felt now. But then, he had faced far more enemies than parents of prospective brides.

That said more about his life than he cared to consider at this moment and as Xiao-nan reentered the room, he thrust the thought
away. Instead, he put on his best smile and waited to see the mood of her parents.

Xiao-nan’s father kept his face composed, trying to look stern, but there was no mistaking the twinkle in his eye; her mother
and sister were smiling openly. Duncan felt himself relax.

Xiao-nan directed each of them to where she wished them to sit while Duncan remained standing, waiting. When Xiao-nan came
again to stand beside him, the two of them bowed deeply and silently to the family.

“Yao-hui Choi,” Duncan began, addressing her father formally, man to man as custom demanded. “I have come to ask for your
daughter Xiao-nan’s hand in marriage. I know that she is a great treasure to this household. I therefore present these humble
gifts to you as a token that by this marriage our fortunes shall be merged.”

Yao-hui made no move yet to acknowledge the package before him. “Xiao-nan is more than a treasure to our house,” he replied.
“She is also a blessing to our hearts. You are a man of
the West. It would be too great a hardship to lose our daughter to such a distant place.”

“This land is Xiao-nan’s home,” Duncan said, “and it will be my home, too.”

“It is our belief that the law of compassion forbids us to allow even the stranger to suffer with want of food or shelter,”
Yao-hui continued, “but it is best for a man to have the way of providing for his family before he is wed. You are a stranger
to our land, Duncan MacLeod. I must ask you what work you will do to give my daughter a home?”

Duncan had thought about this for a long time. Most of the experiences of the last two hundred years would be of no value
here in Tibet. But today in the marketplace Duncan had reached a decision that made him grateful for his early life and his
years as a chieftain’s son in Glenfinnan.

“It is true I have traveled much,” he said to Yao-hui, “and I have turned my hand to many professions. In the place where
I was born, my people own land on which they raise cattle and crops. I learned the ways of this at my father’s knee. It is
my thought to build a farm near this city and grow food for the marketplace. If you do not think this is a correct choice,
then I would gladly be guided by your wisdom. It is my wish to provide well for Xiao-nan and for this family’s care.”

Yao-hui gave a satisfied nod. Then he turned to Xiao-nan. “And you, daughter?” he asked. “What is your heart in this? It is
my right to chose your husband, but I have no wish to see you wed without joy.”

Duncan watched Xiao-nan bow again to her father. “My heart,” she said softly, “is to be the wife of Duncan MacLeod.”

Her words sent a quiet surge of gladness through MacLeod. Their eyes met briefly, and he smiled at her, then he turned back
to Yao-hui to await the next question.

To Duncan’s relief, Yao-hui picked up the package before him and turned it over in his hands, examining it carefully. He took
his time before he put it back on the table and undid the wrapping. The paper fell away and a slow smile spread across his
features.

“This is a fine grinding bowl, Duncan MacLeod,” he said, “and a wisely chosen gift. I will first use it on the day of your
wedding.”

Xiao-nan’s mother gave a little cry of joy. Soon she and Mingxia had opened their gifts and were exclaiming over their beauty.
Duncan and Xiao-nan sat on one of the cushions, basking in the excitement that had replaced the silent tension in the room.

Duncan took Xiao-nan’s hand. As her delicate fingers closed around his own, he was again filled with the desire, the need,
always to keep her safe and happy. In that moment he thanked whatever force—be it God, or fate, or karma—that had brought
him to Tibet.