Justice League of America - Batman: The Stone King Alan Grant (e book reader pc txt) 📖

sunlight probed the darkness of a hidden valley. They stole among the houses, casting a rosy glow, then crept up a wooden wall and in through a bedroom window.

Fourteen-year-old Tenzen Wyung came instantly awake as the light swept across the floor and rested on the pillow by his cheek. He threw off the heavy yak-skin hides that kept him warm on the coldest Nepalese nights, and shivered in the chill air.

Quickly, Tenzen pulled on his heavy cotton shirt and trousers, ignoring the metal basin and jug of water that stood next to the bed. He'd wash later; now, the noise might wake his parents.

He picked up his multicolored yak-hide boots and sneaked across the room. He pushed aside the thick blanket that hung as a divider between his bedroom and the hallway, and gently lifted the heavy wooden latch on the door.

The old latch creaked. To Tenzen's ears it sounded as loud as a gunshot. His heart pounding in his chest, he held his breath, waiting a brief moment.

No sound of movement from his parents' room. Good. They wouldn't wake for another hour, until the sun itself, not its reflected light, was shining in the sky over the valley. Plenty of time for Tenzen to reconnoiter his find.

He moved through the pink-tinged half-light, breathing deeply, savoring the taste of the crisp, fresh air. Somewhere up the valley a yak lowed, the echo rolling gently over the tiny village that Tenzen called home.

Once away from the turf-roofed stone huts, he stopped to pull on his knee boots. Then he began to walk steadily down the rock-strewn mountain road with deceptive speed. Here in the Mitakula Valley, almost twelve thousand feet above the level of the distant sea, it was wise not to run. Even the locals could suffer altitude sickness if their lungs couldn't extract enough oxygen from the thin air.

The high peaks surrounded the valley like a dome, shades of pink beginning to shift to orange as they focused the unseen sun's light on the tiny green scar on the mountainside.

After a few hundred yards the road narrowed, hugging the face of a precipitous cliff. Tenzen adjusted his pace to a slow walk, pressing his back against the sheer rock that rose a thousand feet above him and a thousand feet below into a ravine where mountain torrents roared.

There had been a landslide the previous week, after a winter of heavy rains. A massive section of cliff face had collapsed, dragging tens of thousands of tons of rock into the deep gash below.

Tenzen had gone with his father when the men of the village inspected the damage. Fortunately, this was the village's secondary road, a ribbon of gravel that tortuously followed the contours of the rock face for nearly a dozen miles before it rejoined the main highway. The road was too narrow and dangerous for vehicles of any type. The landslide would mean an added ten-mile hike for any villager heading for the nearest bus stop to find transport to the Low Valleys.

In the wisdom of adulthood, it was decided by the village council that the road could never be repaired. The children were told to steer clear of it, and the matter was forgotten.

But Tenzen had seen something the others hadn't In the fractured rock face a dozen feet above the road, he'd seen a small oblong opening. Like a window. He hadn't said anything to his father, because he knew he'd never be permitted to climb up and explore.

The memory of that tiny opening had stayed with him. He'd heard tales of the old Buddhist temples, carved directly into living rock, furnished with paintings and tapestries and golden meditating statues.

He lay in bed each night, dreaming of the hidden vaults and caverns that might lie beyond.

Perhaps . . . Tenzen hardly dared admit the thought.

Perhaps it was even older, a fabulous shrine or royal treasure trove from the ancient days, when long-forgotten warriors roamed these inaccessible valleys.

When Tenzen was a child, his father had told him of a stone ax a neighbor had dug up in his tiny field. A spiral had been incised into one side of the ax blade. On the other a strange beast was carved, like a cross between a man and a bull.

Unable to bear the tension any longer, Tenzen had come back this morning, determined to find out one way or the other what was on the far side of that window.

He rested his hand lightly against a massive boulder that completely filled the road, projecting out over the chasm by a good ten feet, and looked up.

Yes, it was a window. What else could it be, cut so carefully in the rock?

His heartbeat quickened as his eyes scanned up the cliff, searching for handholds. It wasn't going to be easy, but Tenzen had always excelled at climbing. He could do this.

He vaulted up onto the fallen boulder, careful not to snag his boots in the wide vein of rough quartz that ran through it. From this improved angle, he could see that the opening was definitely not natural. As far as Tenzen could tell, the corners were perfect right angles.

Tenzen's hand reached up to grasp the almost invisible spur of rock that would serve as his first handhold. He'd never felt so excited. He was going to be the first to discover a long-lost secret. What kind of treasure would a man-bull hide away from the world?

"Stop where you are, boy!"

The voice cut sharply through the air and echoed away into the mountains. Tenzen's heart sank. His father.

The boy leaped back down from the boulder, his eyes downcast. His father waited until Tenzen drew near to him, then turned on his heel and stalked back toward the village without saying a word.

Tenzen followed drearily. He had disobeyed his father. He would be punished–extra chores, probably, carrying wooden buckets of water from the stream almost half a mile away.

If only I was a man! he thought fiercely.

He walked into the house