Midnight 01 - Luisa's Desire

Martin said, aghast. "Even trained monks sometimes mistake a vision for reality. Such a thing could break her mind!"
     
    "Not if she has a guide."
     
    Martin caught his breath. He sensed his teacher was not proposing to fill that role himself. "No," he said, before he could think better of it. "Rinpoche, please do not ask that of me. That kind of journey is too intimate. I would—She is already—"
     
    The abbot cocked his head at him. "I know your response to her is strong, perhaps as strong as your first response to Shisharovar?"
     
    "My reaction to her has nothing in common with that. Nothing! I have no memories of her. None!"
     
    "One does not need a memory for there to be a karmic link. Dread can be as much a sign of connection as love. In any case, I know you have not forgotten the importance of facing fears."
     
    Martin's head could scarcely hang any lower. "No, rinpoche."
     
    "Good. Because I am asking you to help our guest face hers. Fear is invariably the barrier to achievement. Once she overcomes it, I suspect we will progress."
     
    Martin had no doubt of that, but to what they would progress he dared not imagine.
     
Chapter Four
     
    DESPITE the abbot's sponsorship, Luisa's presence unsettled the other inhabitants of the lamasery. Because of this, her tiny, isolated cell was transformed into a chamber for meditation. She was given a robe to wear, a simple wrap of woven cloth. Pots of incense were carried in and a thangka, or banner of painted silk, was hung across one wall. The image was grim to say the least: a fire-enshrouded demon with a necklace of severed heads.
     
    "That is Hayagriva," Martin said, "the deity of awakened energy. Those figures he is trampling represent the concepts of self and personality, both illusions of the earthly world. Illusion, of course, is the source of all human suffering."
     
    Luisa hummed in response and tried to blank her face. When Martin explained the purpose of this exercise, she had acknowledged the importance of facing one's deepest fears. She could not, however, imagine wanting to lose one's sense of self. She had spent her human life as little more than a beast of burden: unseen and unheard, almost too beaten down to think. Even after she was changed, her master had to bully her into learning. You need a strong mind, he'd said, to face the dangers of the world. You, my little peasant, will bow to no one else's child.
     
    However dubious that claim, she relished being someone now, someone who could read and reflect and affect not just her own future but that of others. If her identity was an illusion, she was not sure she wished to know.
     
    Behind her, Martin chuckled. "I'm sorry," he said when she turned around. "If you could see your expression… The self we seek to lose is only the self that is not true. Yes, we believe all beings are part of a greater whole, but within each is an essence that is unique."
     
    Luisa suspected their concept of uniqueness differed. Rather than debate him, she walked her fingertips up his arm. "You know," she said silkily, "you have a beautiful smile. You would cut quite a swath if I brought you back with me to Florence."
     
    Martin's eyes widened. Clearly his experience with flirtation was very small. She looked forward to seeing him blush, but a quiet dignity fell over his face instead. He bowed from the waist. "I thank you for your words," he said. "I am sure you meant to honor me."
     
    To her amazement, heat prickled over her cheeks. His politeness shamed her. They both knew her intent had been not to honor but to tease.
     
    "I do honor you," she said, meaning it sincerely. "I have to remind myself how earnest you are, and that there is no show in you. You are different from other churchmen I have known."
     
    "As you are different from other Europeans I have known—and not just because of what you are." His smile returned, bringing a gleam of admiration to his eyes. The admiration seemed for her both as a person and a woman.
     
    Uncomfortable with the pleasure this inspired, she turned her eyes to the wine into which he was mixing herbs. The cup that held the brew was skillfully worked silver studded with turquoise and coral stones. The merchant in her wondered if the monks had similar creations she might buy. But better, mayhap, not to ask about that now.
     
    "I am not certain this will work," she warned. "Upyr tend to resist the effect of drugs."
     
    "These are not ordinary drugs. My teacher prepared