Arthur sat by the pool until the first pale wash of dawn had softened the edges of the ruin. The Pond of Life lay before him, still and terrible in its perfection, catching the faint light and spinning it into slow fire. All night the chamber had seemed to breathe; now it exhaled, a little quieter, as if it knew a decision had been formed and that the world would tilt upon it.
He had walked the galleries again and again, his boots whispering on the golden floor while the Tall Whites watched as if they were wind-made sentinels. Their counsel had been blunt and complete. Close the portal. Destroy the Kohinoor. Hide Shamballa forever. Spare the valley the endless coming of hungry men.
And yet the choice they offered felt like murder on two fronts. To deny the outside world the gift of heali
