The ninth buddha - Daniel Easterman

‘Look up,’ he said in a sharp whisper.

As Christopher watched, the mist parted, revealing bit by bit a vast monastery. The great edifice seemed suspended between earth and sky, floating impossibly on a cushion of mist, its topmost pinnacles lost among clouds.

‘What is this place?’ he whispered, to no one in particular.

‘Our destination,’ said Tsarong Rinpoche, ‘is Sanga Chelling: the Place of Secret Spells.’

Christopher looked up again. In a window high up near the roof, someone had lit a lamp. Someone was watching them.

Someone was waiting.