Kyle's nerves wound tighter and tighter as the boat skimmed over the water like a swallow, propelled by the strong arms of a gray-robed young man. What if he'd come all this distance and found nothing except beauty? He'd visited shrines in many lands, seeking some elusive understanding that he couldn't even name. Occasionally he'd felt that he was close to reaching what he sought. But never close enough.

When they reached the island, Troth helped Kyle from the boat with the deference due his aged and injured state, then guided him up the broad steps that led to the temple entrance. Heart pounding, he stared through the thin gauze at the details of the structure that had captured his imagination, enchanted as much by the gilded mythical beasts that marched down the curving ridgepoles as by the perfect, harmonious proportions.

Most of all, he felt the sheer power of the place. This was like the cave shrine to Kuan Yin, only multiplied a hundredfold. Hoshan radiated a sacred energy that both humbled and enlightened. He could feel it in every fiber of his being.

The sound of chanting monks wafted out the high, arched entrance, the voices eerily beautiful. Troth's grip on his elbow tightened. One would have to be made of stone not to be affected by Hoshan.

They stepped from sunshine into mystery. The vast shrine was domed with a richly coffered ceiling of blue and gold and lit by masses of candles. Sandalwood incense perfumed the air, so spicy Kyle could taste it on his tongue.

Shrines to other deities circled the sanctuary, but it was the towering statue of the Buddha, gilded and serene, that riveted his attention. Here was the heart of the temple's energy, the innate power of the image enhanced by twenty centuries of prayers.

Most of the many monks were seated in the lotus position as they chanted their devotions with an intensity that resonated in the mind, but a few were assigned to help visitors. When one approached, Troth bowed and spoke softly to him, giving him an offering of silver coins. He accepted with a nod and gave her half a dozen tall, smoldering incense sticks.

Her grip firm, Troth guided Kyle forward so they could place their flowers and fruit in front of the altar. Troth had explained on their journey that it wasn't the image that was being worshiped, but the spiritual awareness it represented. Nonetheless, in the flickering light the Buddha's face seemed almost alive, his gaze so profound it was easy to understand why some worshipers thought the statue itself was divine.

After backing them up several steps, Troth handed him three of the incense sticks. The night before she'd explained the proper ritual. First he should kneel to pray or meditate. When he finished his devotions, he must place the joss sticks into the incense pot, then kowtow before rising.

He obeyed, moving with the slowness of an old man as he knelt on the cool marble floor. Finally he had reached the heart of this journey. Behind his gauze blindfold, he closed his eyes and let the spirit of the place fill him. Power. Goodness. Mysteries beyond the ken of mortal men.

Why had a sinner like him made this pilgrimage? Not to mock, God knew, but in search of wisdom and grace.

He deserved neither. His past ran through his mind, the memories an iron knot as he recalled every instance of selfishness and anger. He and his brother had been alienated for a decade, and the fault had lain almost entirely with his own pigheaded arrogance. He'd known how much he meant to his father, both as a son and as an heir, yet he'd deliberately withheld the warmth the old earl had secretly craved.

And Constancia… She had been his shield and his salvation, yet he'd been unable to tell her what she meant to him until literally the hour of her death.

Despair swept through him in drowning waves. He'd been born blessed, and proved himself wholly unworthy of his good fortune. He was shallow, useless, a failure at everything that really mattered. Dear God, why had he ever been born?

As tears stained his bandaged face, hesitant fingers touched his left hand. Troth. He clutched at her, desperate for an anchor in a tempest of self-recriminations. Troth.

She squeezed his hand, and in her grip he felt the pulse of her chi. Pure and bright, it glowed with a compassion that warmed the depths of his darkness. That first touch of light grew like the dawn sun rising into a globe of purifying fire, burning away his pain and doubts, pettiness and regrets. He felt scalded, melted, transformed.

Yes, he'd been imperfect, sometimes dense and other times foolish, but never had he been evil. He'd never used his power to be cruel, and even at his angriest, he'd done his duty and tried to live with honor. Now, perhaps, he could learn how to do his duty with joy. He felt a vast and powerful compassion for all the world's suffering creatures, and knew it for a shadow of the limitless compassion the Divine felt for humankind-so much compassion that there was enough even for him. Exaltation welled up within him.

Was this clarity of soul what Christians called grace? How strange to travel halfway around the world to find what priests of his own religion had tried to explain in sermons he'd scarcely listened to.

In my end, I find my beginning. For him, the beginning was the discovery of soul-deep peace. The restlessness that had driven him since he was a child dissolved as if it had never existed. Inner peace was not something found only at the ends of the earth, but a quality that could be-must be-found within his own heart.

Troth shifted beside him, and he realized that his muscles were stiff and his knees aching from the polished marble floor. He wondered how long he'd been lost in his inner labyrinth.

Feeling quite creaky enough for his aged role, he set the stubs of the incense sticks in the pot and kowtowed, then got to his feet. Troth did the same rather more gracefully.

Together they circled the sanctuary to view the smaller shrines. He tried to memorize every image, every small, rich detail, so that in the future he would be able to return to the temple in his mind even though his body would never come this way again.

Leaving the temple, they went into the gardens behind. Designed in a series of grottoes ideal for contemplation, they were exquisite. In a small rockery of fantastically shaped stones, Troth said under her breath, "Would you mind waiting here for a few minutes? I want to go into Kuan Yin's garden and pay my respects before we leave."

"Of course." He settled on a bench in the shadow of a miniature mountain made of raw stone, glad she was moved to her own private worship.

It was peaceful in the rockery. The chanting was so faint that the sound might have come from another world. Nearer to hand was the faint splashing of a small waterfall that fell from the piled rocks into a pool. Bright birds he didn't recognize bathed in the water, singing joyfully. Since there was no one about, he turned and slid the bandage from his eyes so he could see Hoshan clearly once before leaving. It was even lovelier when not viewed through a haze of gauze.

His serenity suffered a severe jolt when an elderly monk entered the rockery, his footsteps inaudible over the songs of the bathing birds. The old man glanced at Kyle and froze in his tracks.

Damnation! Kyle swore at himself for forgetting the practical realities of his situation. In the afternoon sun his blue eyes were unmistakable, and once they had been seen, it was easy to discern European features under the swaddling bandages.

He reached inside for calm, and found it, along with a possible solution. Before the monk could raise a cry, Kyle stood and pressed his hands together in front of his chest in the classic Indian greeting of goodwill. "Namaste," he said quietly, bowing as he would have in India.

Recognizing the gesture, the monk's lined face relaxed into acceptance. Putting his hands together, he repeated, "Namaste."

Kyle bowed again, doing his best to convey sincerity and harmlessness, then withdrew from the rockery. He met Troth as she returned from the Kuan Yin shrine. "I was careless and a monk saw me for a Fan-qui," he said tersely. "I don't think he'll raise the alarm, but it's probably best to leave immediately."

Wasting no time with questions or recriminations, she took his arm and marched him to the landing. One of the boats was about to leave, so they found places and in a few minutes they were back on the shore.

They'd debated whether to spend a night at the lakeshore guesthouse, but now that was out of the question. Sheng was separated from his fodder and soon they were winding their way back along the track. This late in the day, there was little traffic. Kyle calculated that they should leave the treacherous track just as darkness fell. They could stay at the tiny mountain inn where they'd slept the night before.

When they reached the spur of the mountain that would block their view of the temple, he said, "Wait."

Troth nodded, and they both turned for a last look at Hoshan. In the waning light, it looked even more unreal than it had on their journey in. "I don't see any signs of pursuit." Kyle briefly explained what had happened, adding, "I felt at the time that the monk accepted me as an honest seeker and was unworried by the fact that I was an illicit foreign devil."

"Probably he was gratified at the knowledge that a foreigner would come so far and risk so much to worship here." Troth smiled. "Or maybe he thought from your gesture that you were an Indian, not a European. Whatever the reason, the peace of Buddha reigned there."

Kyle hesitated, then asked a question that he'd wondered about for some time. "How would you describe your religious faith, Troth?"