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Shanti s face is almost healed. I cannot take the credit. My blood helped, but the plastic surgeons did the heavy lifting. With makeup, most people don t
even notice that she was once disfigured.
We ve been in Arosa three days and no one s knocked at our door. The town s extraordinarily peaceful. I hope it s not a deception. A lake sits at its
center, and is surrounded on three sides by snow-capped mountains. Arosa itself is a mile above sea level. The place is supposed to be busy during the
skiing season, though this summer it s almost deserted. To me, it s the perfect spot to collapse and rest from the traumas of the last few months.
I have come to Arosa in search of the Telar, and to see what I can learn of Yaksha s past and his connection to this mysterious group of immortals. Of
course, I don t have a photograph of Yaksha. There were no cameras in existence when we hunted together. But I have a photographic memory, and I ve
studied under many skilled artists. I m able to paint a picture of Yaksha that could pass as a photograph. I carry it with me each morning and evening when
I go for a walk around town, and ask people if they remember him. I know this makes me an easy target for the Telar, but I m not going to hide from them
anymore.
Not all of Arosa s population lives in the town proper. There are a few hotels located at the tree line, approximately fifteen hundred feet above their main
street. One hotel in particular catches my eye as I take a long hike on our third evening in town. So far I ve had a dozen of the old locals tell me Yaksha
looks familiar, but they ve been unable to say when they last saw him, or where he lived.
The instant I step into the Pratchli I smell him, and I know he didn t just visit the hotel, he came here often, and might even have kept a room in the
building. His odor is unique, strong, and make no mistake exciting.
I walk up to an elderly man at the front desk.
Grüezi val, I say. Hello, how are you?
Grüezi. Sprechen Sie Deutsch?
Ja.
The man smiles. But you prefer English?
I smile back. I thought my Swiss Deutsch was flawless.
He shakes his head. I m afraid not, dear. You ve spent too many years in America. It s spoiled your accent.
A pity. I offer my hand. Lara Adams.
Horace Reinhart. Pleased to meet you, Ms. Adams.
Lara, please. I ve heard your name mentioned in town. You own this hotel?
My wife and I do. It s been in the family two hundred years. Are you looking for a room? Our rates are very reasonable this time of year.
Possibly. Your hotel is lovely. That s quite a view you have out back.
Thank you. I ve always felt Arosa looks like a painting from above. You might be surprised to discover you can see over into the next valley from the top
floor.
Then I must definitely take you up on your offer and stay here a few nights. I remove my small painting of Yaksha from my coat pocket. But this evening
I m here on business. This man is an old friend of mine and I know he spent time here. I was wondering if you could tell me anything about where he lived
or who his friends were?
Reinhart recognizes Yaksha immediately. I don t have to be told. However, even though he nods at the picture, he frowns as well.
Does your friend have a name? he asks, testing me.
He went by Yaksha when I knew him.
He asked us to call him Yak. Reinhart sets the picture aside and studies me. That was fifteen years ago. You can imagine why I m puzzled.
I chuckle softly. I m older than I look, Herr Reinhart. May I ask how long Yak stayed here?
Reinhart gives me a penetrating gaze, trying to decide what secrets I know, and which ones he should share. A long time. You understand?
I keep my voice even. Yes.
He kept two rooms in the hotel. One on the top floor, overlooking the valley. Another in the basement. That s where he spent most of his time.
What did he do in the basement?
He wrote. Day and night. A very large book. At first he told me it was a fantasy tale. Later, he said it was the story of his life. I never did get to read it.
When he wasn t writing, he kept it in a vault he constructed in the basement. The safe was a remarkable technical achievement. I had an expert out from
Zurich to examine it after Yak was gone for over ten years, and he was unable to break into it. Understand I only took this step when I became convinced
Yak wasn t going to return. But a part of me prayed that if he was gone, that he had made arrangements for someone to visit us who knew the
combination.
Herr Reinhart, I may be that person. Can I see the vault?
Certainly. But before I show it to you, may I ask if Yak is still alive?
I m sorry to say he s dead.
He bows his head in respect. Some kind of accident?
It was more complicated than that.
Reinhart is genuinely sad. I can tell the two were good friends. I also know the hotel owner was acquainted with Yaksha for many years and never saw
him age. Yaksha must have trusted the man a great deal to give away such a secret.
Reinhart leads me to a floor that is actually two levels beneath what the staff would call the basement. The entrance to these deeper levels is sealed
tight with hefty wooden doors and large steel locks. Reinhart has with him a bulky set of keys I suspect he hasn t made use of in years. The stairs down to
the hidden basement are covered with a fine layer of dust. Yaksha s odor, strong in the reception area, almost overwhelms me the deeper we go.
The bottom floor has no electricity. Reinhart carries a flashlight and halts before a varnished door with a dome-shaped top. He takes out a key as large
as my hand and struggles to fit it in the lock. He s old and his hand trembles. For that matter, his pulse is shaky, even though I can tell he has a pacemaker
buried in his chest to keep his heart beating.
My wife has never been down here, he says.
Why not?
He smiles. She thinks it s haunted.
Why was this floor built? It couldn t have been for guests or staff or storage.
Reinhart shakes his head. My great-great-grandfather left a diary. He said this floor was only to be used in the event of an attack. Otherwise, it was to
be left deserted.
But you let Yak stay here?
Ja. I did so because he knew about this place without being told. When I asked him how he knew, he replied, I m here to make sure you re never
attacked.
An odd remark, I say, although it makes me think of the Telar.
Ja. Yak reminded me of what was in the diary. For some reason, I felt God was trying to tell me something.
Are you a man of faith, Herr Reinhart?
Very much so. And you, Lara?
I believe the universe is a mysterious place.
Reinhart finally gets the door open, and I m treated to a suite that is much larger and well furnished than I expected. The quarters are immaculate.
Indeed, except for the fact the sofa, desk, and chairs are antiques, I could be looking at an expensive suite in one of the finest hotels in Zurich.
Only there are no lamps, no lights of any kind. Does Reinhart know this secret as well? That Yaksha like myself had no need for them?
It s beautiful, I say.
Can you believe I ve only been down here twice since Yak left us?
You wanted to preserve it the way he kept it. You never stopped hoping for his return.
You are a wise lady. How old did you say you were?
I did not say, Herr Reinhart. Where did he build the safe?
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