The Path Read Online Free PDF Page A

crushed
     spices.
    As he sat there, hearing their voices without really listening, it was like being transported back in time, back two hundred
     years to the Highlands of Scotland when his people had lived much this same way. Had the world really changed so much, he
     thought, or was it just him? Somewhere in the last two centuries, the
wonder
in him had died.
    With that thought, restlessness again gripped him. He stood abruptly and headed toward the thick hide-flap that served the
     tent as a door.
    “There is a Yeti-wind blowing, Duncan MacLeod,” the tribal leader called after him. “The Demon of the Snows will be prowling
     tonight. Do not go beyond the smoke of our fires.”
    “I will be careful, Zhi-yu,” Duncan assured him, not quite smiling at the old man’s words.
    In this, too, the Tibetans reminded Duncan of his own people. He could almost hear his mother’s voice telling him not to go
     out when the “goblin moon” was high. Goblins, witches, wood sprites, fairies—his childhood had been filled with stories of
     these creatures stealing human babies from their cradles and human souls from the unwary. The Christian Church had never quite
     banished the fears of ancient lore.
    Tibet, too, had its horde of demons the people feared. Somewere creatures of spirit and fire; others walked the world in physical form, but were demons, nonetheless. The most terrifying
     of these was the Yeti. It was said to be eight feet tall, with long white fur and with teeth and claws powerful enough to
     rend man or beast. The nomads burned branches of a special bush to keep the demon at bay. This was “Yeti-wood,” their only
     fuel besides dried yak dung, and at night they did not go beyond the boundaries of their camp’s comforting blanket of smoke.
    In two hundred years of life and all of his travels, the only demons Duncan had seen were the human kind—and usually they
     had a sword in their hand.
    The night air did little to refresh MacLeod as he walked through the nomads’ camp. There was not much to see at this late
     hour. The large black tents were but deeper shadows rising on the darkened landscape. Prayer flags hung everywhere, squares
     of brightly colored cloth on which prayers had been printed, and during the day they fluttered gaily in the sun. But now they
     hung still, silent, and dark. The only light came from the sliver of the waning moon and from the stars, which here on the
     high Tibetan plateau looked almost near enough to reach out and grab by the handful.
    MacLeod pulled his long fur-lined coat more closely around himself and felt the comforting presence of his
katana
. Even here he would not go unarmed, though out of respect for the beliefs of his hosts he tried to make his weapon as unobtrusive
     as possible.
    He walked to a nearby boulder and sat, waiting for the silence of the night to enter and calm him again. But it was not really
     silent; as he sat there, Duncan could hear the voices of nomads, laughing and talking in their extended families. This was
     the sweet and gentle sound of communal life. It was a life Duncan knew he could never be a part of, even if he stayed. He
     could never live and grow old among people he loved. That knowledge kept him moving and fed the restlessness he had lived
     with for so very long. That—and the Game.
    Even here he knew it would eventually find him. It always did. And with the Game came death. Mortals had their wars, their
     causes and laws; Immortals had their swords and the end was the same. More death. Always death.
    Duncan drew in a deep, cleansing breath and let it out again slowly. The cold of the night air was beginning to penetrate
     even through his thick coat. One more deep breath, then he started back toward the tent. He would stay here tonight and be
     on his way in the morning—to Lhasa to attend this ceremony that meant so much to his Tibetan friends, a final thank-you for
     their kindness. After that, Duncan gave a mental shrug.
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