Read Online The Path by Rebecca Neason - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rebecca Neason
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Fantasy, Contemporary, Fantasy Fiction; American, Fantastic fiction, Adventure stories, Radio and Television Novels, Tibet Autonomous Region (China), Dalai Lamas, MacLeod; Duncan (Fictitious Character), Dalai Lamas - Fiction, Tibet (China) - Fiction
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heard there was a European in Lhasa. The people regard you with a bit of awe, you know.”
“Me?” Duncan could not keep the surprise out of his voice.
“Oh, yes. You’re the special guest of their Dalai Lama. They think of him as the incarnation of their god, and that makes
you a person of importance—and of speculation. Father Jacques, the other of my Order who lives here, and the three Brothers
of the Capuchin Order of St. Francis are the only Europeans most of these people have ever seen, and we do not live at the
Potala. Indeed we would not, even had we been invited. All those heathen images.” The priest shuddered expressively. “Don’t
you find them offensive, Mr. MacLeod?”
Duncan was beginning to find
the priest’s
presence offensive; he spoke with a pomposity Duncan did find irritating. “No,” MacLeod answered quickly. “Many of them are
quite beautiful.”
“Of themselves, perhaps,” Father Edward agreed, “but not of what they represent. Indeed, it is their heathen beliefs and practices
that keeps this place from being a true paradise and these people from being among the most sanctified.”
“And you’re here to change all that, I suppose,” Duncan said, irritation turning to anger.
“Should God grant me that grace,” Father Edward replied, but his tone was fierce not meek.
“Well, you’ll get no help from me.” Duncan turned on his heel and strode off, leaving the priest staring after him.
Duncan walked quickly, letting the movement vent his anger. His own religious feelings were ambiguous at best, but intolerance
was the one thing that even as an Immortal he did not have
time
to practice.
MacLeod, intent upon distancing himself from the priest, had not seen the change that came over the man’s face when MacLeod
left him standing on the street of Lhasa. Black eyes narrowed, following Duncan’s movements, calculating stance, balance,
and strength. Here, he thought to MacLeod’s retreating back, is a threat to plans so carefully laid.
I must watch this one
, he thought.
When the time comes, he must not be allowed to interfere
.
Chapter Eight
Thoughts of Father Edward stayed with Duncan for the rest of the afternoon, casting a shadow over the brightness of the day.
Did the Dalai Lama know anything about these priests living in his city, Duncan wondered, about the type of men they were
and the opinions they held? Did he know of their plans to convert and control the people?
Duncan shook his head.
How can he, young as he is? He’s never really seen anyone from the world away from Tibet. He needs to be told that not all
men have generous hearts, no matter what they profess
.
Aye
, Duncan thought, accepting the responsibility and age experience laid upon him.
I’ll tell him this very evening. His Holiness must learn the truth about these
Jesuits.
Even his thoughts spat the word. He had seen too many atrocities for it to be otherwise—the Inquisition, the witch-hunts and
burnings, all in the name of their religion.
They may call themselves missionaries, but I call them fanatics and murderers
. It was the Jesuit activities in Japan that had led to the law forbidding the harboring of Westerners, and that in turn had
led to the death of Hideo Koto.
Duncan MacLeod had little cause to love men like Father Edward.
The priest’s presence and his words worked like a slow poison in Duncan’s mind as he sat in the Potala garden and watched
the afternoon slowly pass toward evening. They ate away at the fragile peace of mind that MacLeod had felt slowly descending
upon him. Once more, wariness surfaced. The missionaries had not been invited to live here in the Dalai Lama’s palace, Father
Edward had said, so why had he? Duncan wondered. What was it the young man wanted from him?
Duncan knew he needed to have his answer—and, if possible,he meant to have it tonight. He hurried back to his room to await the Dalai Lama’s summons.
It was not long
“Me?” Duncan could not keep the surprise out of his voice.
“Oh, yes. You’re the special guest of their Dalai Lama. They think of him as the incarnation of their god, and that makes
you a person of importance—and of speculation. Father Jacques, the other of my Order who lives here, and the three Brothers
of the Capuchin Order of St. Francis are the only Europeans most of these people have ever seen, and we do not live at the
Potala. Indeed we would not, even had we been invited. All those heathen images.” The priest shuddered expressively. “Don’t
you find them offensive, Mr. MacLeod?”
Duncan was beginning to find
the priest’s
presence offensive; he spoke with a pomposity Duncan did find irritating. “No,” MacLeod answered quickly. “Many of them are
quite beautiful.”
“Of themselves, perhaps,” Father Edward agreed, “but not of what they represent. Indeed, it is their heathen beliefs and practices
that keeps this place from being a true paradise and these people from being among the most sanctified.”
“And you’re here to change all that, I suppose,” Duncan said, irritation turning to anger.
“Should God grant me that grace,” Father Edward replied, but his tone was fierce not meek.
“Well, you’ll get no help from me.” Duncan turned on his heel and strode off, leaving the priest staring after him.
Duncan walked quickly, letting the movement vent his anger. His own religious feelings were ambiguous at best, but intolerance
was the one thing that even as an Immortal he did not have
time
to practice.
MacLeod, intent upon distancing himself from the priest, had not seen the change that came over the man’s face when MacLeod
left him standing on the street of Lhasa. Black eyes narrowed, following Duncan’s movements, calculating stance, balance,
and strength. Here, he thought to MacLeod’s retreating back, is a threat to plans so carefully laid.
I must watch this one
, he thought.
When the time comes, he must not be allowed to interfere
.
Chapter Eight
Thoughts of Father Edward stayed with Duncan for the rest of the afternoon, casting a shadow over the brightness of the day.
Did the Dalai Lama know anything about these priests living in his city, Duncan wondered, about the type of men they were
and the opinions they held? Did he know of their plans to convert and control the people?
Duncan shook his head.
How can he, young as he is? He’s never really seen anyone from the world away from Tibet. He needs to be told that not all
men have generous hearts, no matter what they profess
.
Aye
, Duncan thought, accepting the responsibility and age experience laid upon him.
I’ll tell him this very evening. His Holiness must learn the truth about these
Jesuits.
Even his thoughts spat the word. He had seen too many atrocities for it to be otherwise—the Inquisition, the witch-hunts and
burnings, all in the name of their religion.
They may call themselves missionaries, but I call them fanatics and murderers
. It was the Jesuit activities in Japan that had led to the law forbidding the harboring of Westerners, and that in turn had
led to the death of Hideo Koto.
Duncan MacLeod had little cause to love men like Father Edward.
The priest’s presence and his words worked like a slow poison in Duncan’s mind as he sat in the Potala garden and watched
the afternoon slowly pass toward evening. They ate away at the fragile peace of mind that MacLeod had felt slowly descending
upon him. Once more, wariness surfaced. The missionaries had not been invited to live here in the Dalai Lama’s palace, Father
Edward had said, so why had he? Duncan wondered. What was it the young man wanted from him?
Duncan knew he needed to have his answer—and, if possible,he meant to have it tonight. He hurried back to his room to await the Dalai Lama’s summons.
It was not long
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