Dagger Magic

Chapter Twenty-Four

"CAN you tell us what kind of resistance we might encounter?'' Adam had asked Lama Tseten Rinpoche.

And when Tseten did not immediately answer, Peregrine stirred uneasily, no longer able to contain himself.

"Please, Rinpoche,'" he dared to whisper. "You can't just send us in blind. This is way beyond our experience - mine, at least. How do we protect ourselves against this black Phurba magic?"

The old lama ventured a faint smile before answering, settling back a little as Jigme began translating his reply.

"Patience, youngling. I was about to speak of that. It is certain that Green Gloves will send his dagger priests to secure the false Termas. They will be capable of wielding vast amounts of power, commanding demonic forces beyond your imagination.

"Countering such power is a matter of separating the wielder of the magic from his protectors, so that he is vulnerable to attack by his own demons. The Western magic resident in your chief is equal to the task, dagger to dagger. Dr. Sinclair knows - though he does not know that he knows."

This cryptic observation drew a questioning look from Adam, but instead of speaking, Tseten reached out and took him by the right hand. The old man's touch sent a faint electrical shock tingling up Adam's arm, accompanied by an almost irresistible compulsion to let fall all defenses where the venerable lama was concerned.

"If you will permit it, I can teach you to know what you know," Jigme translated, as Tseten deftly picked up Adam's sapphire ring and slid it back onto his hand. Turning that hand upward, the old man slowly began to trace a decreasing spiral in the palm with the tip of his right index finger.

"You need not fear." Jigme's words were a soothing caress. "Rinpoche says you have the ability to resist his direction, but he prays that you will not, so that he may guide you to a higher level of consciousness."

The old lama's touch and the spiralling circle being traced on his palm were drawing Adam into trance. Almost without his volition, he could feel the tension draining out of his body, as if Tseten somehow had opened a tap. To either side of him, he sensed concern tensing McLeod and Peregrine, but he paid them no mind; he had nothing to fear from the master before whom he sat, and to whom he now yielded up his will.

"Grant me your teaching, Master," he whispered, lifting his gaze squarely to Tseten's. "I give you leave to guide me wherever I must go."

The spiralling on his palm ended with a brief caress. Taking both Adam's hands in his, Tseten gently folded them together, palm to palm, in an attitude of prayer, and held them in his own. As Adam closed his eyes, a sensation of calm expectancy stole over him, a centering and slipping into familiar patterns of quiescent readiness.

The old lama's hands left Adam's as he softly began to chant, Jigme's voice also joining in.

"Om mani peme hum! Om mani peme hum! Om mani peme hum…"

The familiar mantra lulled and reassured, enjoining surrender in the blissful contemplation of the lotus-jewel of compassion, a heady melding of self with the Supreme All-ness that shaped the universe. Reinforced by a faint clicking that Adam dimly identified as Tseten's rosary beads, the quietly reiterating syllables filled the surrounding air with hypnotic resonances.

Breathing deeply, Adam let those resonances wash over him in waves, carrying him out of the phenomenal world and into the interior realm of a profound, free-floating trance. At first that realm was void, and without form. But then, across that interior void, the blended voices of the two holy men moved like an echo of the first syllable of creation.

A spark of pure, unbroken light appeared in the darkness behind Adam's closed eyelids, vital as a newborn sun. As his inner vision yearned toward it, the heart of that sun exploded, flooding the void with a particle-storm of polychrome radiance. Colors of the metaphysical spectrum spiralled round him in a corona of many-colored lights.

With his next indrawn breath, the corona flowed into his body, circulating throughout his entire being. The chain of braided lights penetrated every nerve with vital, tingling energy. In an instant of revelation, he perceived the colors in their true light, manifold expressions of the sixfold classes of sentient beings.

The black strand represented the creatures of the purgatorial realm. The red one stood for the yidag and mi-ma-yin, the lesser spirits; the green for the tudo, the animal world. The realm of men was represented by the yellow strand, that of the hlamayin, or greater spirits, by the blue. Encompassing and crowning them all, as origin and source, was the purity of white, the imperial aura of primordial awareness, subordinating all lesser colors to itself in timeless unity.

The corona flowed out of his body on his exhaled breath, but each successive cycle of respiration renewed the pattern, simultaneously experienced and perceived. As his concentration deepened, Adam became aware that the chain of lights was lengthening. With each successive cast, it seemed to draw him out of himself in ever-expanding reaches of consciousness till at last he became at one with the chain.

The instant of complete assimilation was accompanied by a sudden shift in the fabric of the cosmos. Though Jigme's voice continued to drone the syllables of the mantra, Adam heard Tseten's voice not through ears but through heart, through soul, speaking the transcendental language of the Inner Planes.

Unthinkable, unchangeable, the great perfection of Wisdom… unborn, unceasing, in essence like the sky… self-arisen, enlightened awareness knowing each and all… I bow before the Mother of all Buddhasl

The origin of the chain of being withdrew, contracting in a spiral toward the star-point whence it had come. Obedient to the promptings of his guide, Adam divested himself of all imagistic ties with the material world. Anchored now only by the silver cord of his present lifetime, he joined the spiral recession toward the birthpoint of the universe. As the wheel of the cosmos drew him ever closer toward the heart of that original light, Tseten spoke to him again, mind to mind and soul to soul.

Open to me, O Seeker, and receive the Transmission.

In a timeless moment of eternity, Adam found himself recalling all his manifold past lives, many yet unexamined and even unguessed in ordinary consciousness. Here, each was like a separate strain of melody, blended together with its counterparts in patterns of complex harmony.

To that intrinsic symphonic unity now was added a new strain, plucked from Tseten's own being. Adam trembled, but not with fear, as the new music was introduced and brought into accord with the pre-existent motifs, pairing note with note and theme with theme until his very being resonated with augmented sound. The voice of his guide made itself heard against a background of diminishing crescendos.

The many forms of knowledge are merely kindred aspects of Wisdom, he was told, different tunes played on the same set of strings. The art of the performer lies in the ability to transpose, adapting one form to another. Remember then, that Wisdom is a unity, and do not be afraid. For what you know, you know in the essence of the Truth….

Watching from either side of Adam, themselves lulled into stillness by Jigme's continued low chanting and the faint click of Tseten's rosary beads, McLeod and Peregrine could only guess at Adam's inner vision. Adam himself remained almost frighteningly motionless, hardly breathing, eyes closed and dark head slightly bowed, apparently oblivious to his surroundings. He did not react as Tseten leaned forward to loop the rosary beads over his head, still chanting.

The movement roused both McLeod and Peregrine to greater watchfulness, but did not seem threatening. But then, as Tseten reached behind his back, a flash of metal emerging in his hand, Peregrine could not suppress a gasp. A Phurba now lay in the old monk's hands.

Peregrine's first instinct was to interpose himself between the blade and the helpless Adam, or at least to cry out a warning. To his dismay, he found himself incapable of doing either. Beyond Adam, McLeod seemed similarly immobilized, blue eyes wide behind the aviator spectacles. Paralyzed, both men could only look on in growing apprehension as Tseten began to roll the hilt of the Phurba between his palms, point down, precisely the way the man had done who had killed Michael Scanlan.

As the words of Tseten's chant shifted, Jigme fell silent, head bowed. Light flashed from the turning Phurba blade, and Tseten's voice rose and fell in a rhythmic singsong that both caressed and commanded. Somehow the new chant did not alarm, though Peregrine thought he should be alarmed; Adam did not seem to be concerned, but nor did he seem aware of what was taking place.

Tseten's chanting continued for several minutes, then suddenly stopped. In the pregnant silence that followed, broken only by the distant screech of a sea gull, the old lama bowed low to the Phurba and touched its pommel lightly to his forehead, throat, and heart-chakra. Straightening then, he shifted the hilt of the weapon into his right hand and reached out to touch the triangular blade to the crown of Adam's head. Though Adam's eyes remained closed, the touch brought him upright, straight-backed, inhaling deeply, as if about to speak.

But before he could utter a sound, a deep, gong-like note seemed to fill the cavern, reverberating from the walls to echo and re-echo all round them, resonant with intimations of benediction and empowerment. Hearing it, Peregrine felt all his anxiety drain away, to be replaced by a sense of profound well-being. With bated breath he watched as the old lama gently laid the Phurba across Adam's hands, which opened of their own accord to receive it.

Left hand still resting lightly on the hilt, Tseten then raised his right hand to Adam's forehead. Firmly his first two fingers tapped out an odd, rhythmic tattoo between the younger man's eyebrows, directly over the location of the traditional Third Eye. As he tapped, he murmured again the words of the mantra he had spoken before. A palpable tension began to grow until, after a moment, Adam's chiselled nostrils quivered and his breath caught in a sudden, explosive sneeze.

Adam was sensible of an odd prickling in his sinuses an instant before the sneeze propelled him back to consciousness. Dizzy and slightly breathless, he weathered a passing wave of disorientation before the world righted itself around him and he found himself back in the remembered confines of St. Molaise's Cave. The realization that he was holding something in his hands came as something of a surprise, which deepened when he looked down to discover that the object resting across his outspread palms was a Phurba.

His waking memory could supply no explanation as to how it might have gotten there, though logic suggested that the Phurba had been instrumental in Tseten's efforts to forearm him against the devices of the enemy he was about to go seeking. It made sense, if he and his were going to have to face black Phurba practitioners. A quizzical look at McLeod received only a baffled shrug by way of response. He had no clear recollection of what had transpired during his period of trance, but he was nonetheless possessed of a vague but reassuring confidence that some form of universal knowledge had been imparted that would come to the fore in the event of need.

While he was still pondering this new reassurance, Tseten reached over and gently lifted the Phurba from his hands. Once his hands were free, Adam paused to knuckle the lingering haze from his eyes. His sleeves brushed the mala beads as he did so, and simultaneously he became aware of Jigme's attentive observation.

"Welcome back to us, Dr. Sinclair," the younger lama said with a smile. "You are a most attentive pupil. You may be sure that you are now appropriately fortified against whatever confrontations lay ahead."

Adam let one hand caress the mala beads on his breast, still a little disoriented.

"The mala is Rinpoche's gift to you," Jigme said. "I suggest that you use it as a link and a tangible reminder of the transmission you have received."

Adam nodded mutely, conscious of a sudden, almost overwhelming desire to remain in the stillness. Glancing again at Tseten, he saw that the venerable master had closed his eyes and was likewise nodding where he sat, his lined face showing slight traces of strain.

"It is best that you go now," Jigme said quietly. "I shall accompany you back to the farmhouse, where the boatman will take you back to Lamlash. Rinpoche is very tired, as you can see - and I expect that you, too, will feel the need for rest before the day is out."

"I confess I feel the need already," Adam said, covering a yawn. "I do beg your pardon, Jigme-la. It isn't the company, I assure you."

"Ah, but it is," Jigme said with a faint smile, "and a sign that much has been accomplished here. Perhaps you will rest on the drive back to your home."

"A suggestion I endorse wholeheartedly," Adam agreed, clasping a hand to McLeod's forearm. "Fortunately, my trusty Second is also my driver today."

"I'll make certain he is all right," McLeod murmured, motioning for Peregrine to help him get Adam to his feet.

While the three of them put their shoes back on, Jigme gathered up Peregrine's photos and sketches and put them and the flag back into his green canvas satchel. Though Tseten did not rise, his dark gaze met them as they turned to bid him farewell.

"Tseten Rinpoche, we are extremely grateful for your guidance," Adam said, raising joined hands to his forehead in a final gesture of respect. "You have my solemn assurance that we will do everything in our power to thwart the designs of our common enemy."

Solemnly Tseten returned the salute.

"The blessings of the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas attend you and your work, Sinclair-la," he said in heavily accented English. "And your chelas show promise," he added, with a nod and a smile at McLeod and Peregrine, who also bowed.

At Tseten's added comment in Tibetan, Jigme added, "Rinpoche also reminds you to please convey his greetings to your Lady Julian when you return home, Dr. Sinclair."

Adam relayed Tseten's greeting by phone from Glasgow's Central Railway Station, where Peregrine was to rendezvous with Julia. At McLeod's insistence, he had settled into a back corner of the motorists' lounge and rested quietly for most of an hour during the ferry crossing back to the mainland, with his two lieutenants sitting wary watch and softly discussing the morning's work over sandwiches and coffee. He had withdrawn again once they returned to the car. By the time he roused a second time, as they approached the outskirts of Glasgow, a plan of action had started to take shape. The call to Julian was the first step toward setting it in motion.

"Well, that's arranged," he announced to the expectant McLeod and Peregrine, as he cradled the receiver. "She'll be expecting us around half past eight. Peregrine, I am sorry about the continuing disruptions," he added. "I wish I could absolve you from being there, but we may well need to call upon your talents."

Peregrine shrugged gamely. "That's all right. I'm starting to get used to having duty constantly hammering at my door."

"Yes, but it's wretched timing when it hammers at the door of the connubial bedchamber," Adam said with a smile. "Will Julia forgive you? Will she forgive me?"

A reluctant twinkle showed behind Peregrine's wire-framed spectacles. "Oh, she'll forgive me. She knows I'll make it up to her. And if you come through with a substitute for that curry dinner we had to scrub at the Colonial - say, dinner at Lancer's in Edinburgh - I expect she'll forgive you as well."

As Adam laughed aloud in acknowledgement, McLeod cast a wry grin at him.

"Looks like you can give your conscience a rest, Adam. I'd say the laddie has the situation well in hand."

"And how about you?" Adam asked. "Will this cause friction in the McLeod household?"

McLeod snorted and shook his head good-naturedly as they headed back out toward the taxi bays. "Since I didn't come home last night, I'm sure Jane will be almost expecting yet another demand on my time. Things like this have a way of happening when you and I are working together on a case."

"Ah, there's Julia now," Peregrine said, gesturing toward the dark green Alvis just then pulling up at the curb opposite. "Adam, shall I collect you about half-past seven? No point both of us driving back into town."

"I'll ring you at the gate lodge, after Noel and I have had a chance to sort things out further. Realistically, though, I don't think there will be time to go home before we're due at Julian's. I may just beg a ride back with you, after we've finished."

"Fair enough. If I don't hear otherwise, I'll see you there."

Sketchbox tucked under his arm, Peregrine trotted off to join his new wife. Adam and McLeod both gave her cheery waves as she leaned across to open Peregrine's door, but as they made their way back to the BMW, McLeod allowed his jaunty air to lapse.

"I hope you know what you're doing in all this," he said as he unlocked the doors and they both got into the car. "I'm bound to tell you that I'm none too comfortable about what went on back on the island. I find it less than reassuring that you haven't any clear recollection of what went on while you were in trance."

"Ordinarily, I'd agree," Adam said as he buckled up his seat belt. "I'm afraid you'll just have to trust me on this one. For what it's worth, I believe that Lama Tseten's intention was to introduce me to the universal templates underlying both our traditions. Certainly he believes that I now possess the basic intrinsic power with which to construct a defense against Green Gloves and his followers. And my own instincts are in favor of trusting his belief."

"So you say," McLeod agreed dourly, turning the key in the ignition. "What I don't like is that there's no way to field-test this before we come face-to-face with the enemy."

"On the contrary, that's partly the reason I've set this meeting at Julian's tonight," Adam said. "Whatever conceptual knowledge Tseten may have imparted to me, it was done at unconscious levels. There's still the job of bringing that information to consciousness, so it can be used. Fortunately, I have at least a vague idea what will be involved to accomplish that."

With an unconvinced snort, McLeod guided the BMW out of the station car park and eased into the proper lane to take them onto the motorway, not speaking again until they had negotiated the interchange that put them back on the way to Edinburgh.

"Answer me this, and I'll say no more on the matter," he said, glancing sidelong at Adam. ' 'Do you still think Tseten qualifies as a Buddhist saint?"

"Now more than ever," was Adam's confident reply. "And I expect our experience will demonstrate as much, before all this is over."

They spent most of the hour-long drive back to Edinburgh beginning to develop the general form of their battle plan. En route, after checking in with his service - his presence would be required at the hospital before they went to Julian's - Adam rang Humphrey on the cell phone to have him begin investigating travel options - but one of the many details that must be worked out before they betook themselves willy-nilly to Ireland to seek out a derelict German submarine and its contents.

"There's one other thing I need you to do for me, Humphrey," he said, before ringing off. "Before seven, I'd like you to deliver my medical bag to Mr. Lovat down at the gate lodge - the bag reserved for very special house calls. He isn't there now, but he should be home in a couple of hours."

He waited until they got to McLeod's home before making several calls of a more sensitive nature on the inspector's secure line, all of them to Ulster numbers. McLeod managed to find a battered road map of Northern Ireland from a previous motoring holiday with Jane, and they spread it on his desk for reference while he and Adam alternated talking with their counterparts across the North Channel. Although the exact destination for the forthcoming mission had yet to be determined, probably until they were actually on Irish soil, at least the physical requisites for dealing with an antique submarine could be guessed at. The degree of psychic investment remained to be seen.

"Right, Magnus. I'll ring you as soon as I have our flight details," Adam said, when he and McLeod had outlined their likely requirements. "Do you need to talk to Noel again, or have you two got that part sussed out?"

"Oh, I know what needs to be done at this end," came the reply, in the lilting accents of the Ulster province, "but I won't have anything more to tell him until I've talked to my local contacts. Some of what you've asked for will take some doing."

"I appreciate that," Adam replied. "You know I wouldn't ask if there were any other options. We'll talk to you later."

After further consultation and a check of the time, Adam had McLeod drop him at the hospital for a brief check-in on his patients, for he had been absent since the previous noon, and hoped to be away in the morning as early as possible. Meanwhile, McLeod made a foray to the bookstores along Princes Street and George Street to procure the appropriate large-scale Ordnance Survey map of the Donegal coast. When he returned to Adam's office at half-past six to collect him, he found his chief on the phone again, looking none too happy.

"More problems?" he asked, as Adam rang off and cradled the receiver.

"You might say that. I certainly hope the timing on this mission isn't critical, because I don't see a way in hell we're going to get to Belfast before mid-afternoon tomorrow. I have a nine o'clock lecture that I can't cancel and can't get anyone to take for me - I've already cancelled once this week with this class. Not that it makes much difference, because the first flight Humphrey can get us on goes at three-twenty in the afternoon. The earlier flights are booked out, even if I didn't have that lecture, and the odds against three standby seats becoming available don't bear thinking about."

"What about the ferry, then?"

"The ferry connections are no better - we'd just be driving instead of waiting, and still get in late in the afternoon. Of course if I dump my lecture, we could drive through the night and catch the first boat - but I don't think we dare shortchange ourselves on sleep, going into something like this."

"Sounds like we go at three-twenty then," McLeod said.

"I doubt Magnus can get his arrangements squared away much before then anyway."

"You're probably right - which is why I discarded the idea of hiring a plane," Adam agreed. "My resources aren't unlimited, and it's foolish to squander them just to gain a few hours that can't even be used." He sighed. "The clock is ticking, though. I don't think we can afford to waste very much time."

"Aye." McLeod glanced at his watch. "Speaking of which, if we waste much more time here, we'll have to skip supper - and the sandwiches and coffee I had on the boat gave up the ghost hours ago. You didn't even have that; you must be starving. Jane said she'd have something holding for us, whenever we can spare half an hour to wolf it down. The other option is a Big Mac."

"I'll opt for Jane's cooking any day," Adam replied, rising to collect his coat. "Let's get out of here before someone pages me; they know I'm in the building."

They made their escape without being apprehended. Jane McLeod had a simple supper waiting when the two of them returned just after seven o'clock. Over modest helpings of silver-side of beef with cabbage and boiled potatoes, McLeod told her of the beauty of Holy Island, and the environmental work going on there, but nary a word of who they had gone to see, or why. Nor did Jane ask. McLeod's announcement of a trip to Ireland on the morrow elicited a raised eyebrow, for even Jane knew that Ireland was totally outside her husband's police jurisdiction, but her only comment was to inquire what kind of bag she ought to pack for him.

At a quarter past eight, after rendering appreciation for the meal and apologies for having to eat and run, Adam bade her good night as he and McLeod betook themselves and their maps off to Lady Julian's, pulling up in front of her Edwardian townhouse just before half-past. Peregrine's Morris Minor was already there, parked directly underneath the street light that lit the sidewalk and steps up to Julian's front door. Two spaces farther on was the dark green Volvo Estate usually seen running errands in Father Christopher Houston's parish.

Of Christopher himself there was no sign, but the door was just opening to admit Peregrine, his blond hair agleam from the brass carriage lights to either side of the door. Returned to the more formal and genteel milieu of Edinburgh, he was kitted out in classic navy blazer and grey flannel bags tonight, instead of the more casual attire of earlier in the day, but the battered sketchbox under one arm was the same that had gone to Holy Island. Adam's medical bag was in his other hand. Behind him, a lean figure in clerical attire pulled the door wider and partially emerged.

"Well, your timing is impeccable as usual, the lot of you!" said Christopher. "Come in, come in, don't stand on ceremony. Julian's given Mrs. Fyvie the night off, so I'm playing butler; she's out in the grotto with tea waiting. Peregrine, I distinctly remember marrying you to a smashing young woman, not a week ago. This is not what you're meant to be doing on your honeymoon!"

He took the medical bag from Peregrine and hustled them inside, shaking hands all around. Like the rest of them, a sapphire shone on his right hand. Still nattering of social small-talk, he closed the door behind them and led the way through the vestibule and green-damasked hall to the spacious and airy sun parlor at the back of the house, where Julian Brodie spent much of her time when not at work in her jewellery studio.

The drapes were drawn across the bowed French window that made the room so bright during daylight hours, and the room was lit tonight primarily by candles, though a high-intensity lamp was goose-necked over a rolling table in the center of the room, at present occupied by a straw-encased teapot and a tray of delicate famille vert porcelain cups. Lady Julian was pouring, herself like a porcelain doll, enveloped in a graceful sky-blue sari that softened the lines of her wheelchair. The clean aroma of jasmine wafted upward with the spice-smells of sandalwood and cinnamon, soothing and reassuring.

"Come in, my dears, and we'll start with a cup of tea," she said, beckoning them with a smile and a nod of her silver head. "Adam, you've had me absolutely on tenterhooks all day, wondering how you got on with Tseten."

She had already warded the room, though not against them. After taking his bag from Christopher, Adam sketched a Sign with his ring hand before crossing the threshold, feeling the protection coil around him before it let him pass. After saluting Julian with a kiss on the cheek, he settled obediently beside her as she chivvied the rest of them into seats around the table like a mother hen, making certain everyone had tea.

He was struck, as always, by the sheer opulence of the room, a delicious hotchpotch of every kind of Orientalia, that delighted the eye but never quite overwhelmed. Against walls hung with figured yellow silk, fans and silk embroideries vied with scrolls done with brush and ink and exquisite Oriental watercolors. Tabletops and shelves displayed a variety of rare and curious objects from every Oriental culture from the Indian Ocean to the China Sea - jade and cloisonne, porcelain and lacquerwork, ivory and bronzes, most of it garnered during the course of her late husband's business sojourns in the Far East. Underfoot was the gleam of parquetry lavished with the jewel-tones of Oriental rugs.

Adam was recalled from his appreciation of Julian's bower by her voice bidding Christopher remove the teapot and tray to one side, leaving the table clear for their use. McLeod spread out the general map of Donegal and the rest of Northern Ireland. Peregrine had set his sketchbox on his knees and was laying out his photos and sketches, finally producing the Nazi flag, which he handed to McLeod before standing the sketchbox on the floor beside him. Briefly opening his medical bag, Adam retrieved his skean dubh and slipped it into a coat pocket before setting the bag on the floor, for Tseten had spoken of the coming confrontation being one of "dagger to dagger."

"So that's where we now stand," he said, when he had briefed Julian and Christopher on the background of the present situation, the events of Holy Island, and an assessment of the mission now facing the Hunting Lodge. What tea had not been drunk was long gone cold. "If the Black Termas are recovered by Green Gloves and his henchmen, and their teachings put into force, the resultant endarkenment will constitute a major encroachment against the Light. Tseten felt that prompt action was essential, though he stressed the folly of charging into the situation before we're properly prepared."

"One can't argue with that logic," Christopher said, putting down the sketch of Green Gloves with a faint shiver. "What did you have in mind to do here tonight?"

"That's a more difficult question to answer," Adam admitted, pulling Tseten's rosary out of his coat pocket. "I have this from Lama Tseten, in token of his teachings and blessings. I think it's meant to be a key of some sort - whether mnemonic or visual or tactile, I couldn't begin to tell you. He also gave me to understand that my skean dubh will play a part in the proceedings - 'dagger to dagger' was the way he put it."

Julian had picked up Tseten's rosary to thoughtfully finger the black beads, and now laid it back on the table beside the skean dubh.

"Black Termas," she said with an eloquent shudder. "What an appalling thought."

"I'll say," Peregrine murmured. "Just out of curiosity, what is a Black Terma supposed to look like?"

"Much like a true Terma" Julian replied, "and I can show you one of those."

Turning her chair around, Julian wheeled herself over to an intricately carved teakwood cupboard in one corner of the room, opening one door before maneuvering closer to peer inside. While she rummaged, Adam picked up Tseten's mala and wrapped it around his left wrist, as he had seen Tseten wear it. When Julian returned, she had across her lap a long, narrow wooden box, perhaps four inches wide by twenty long, and a slightly smaller object of less regular shape, wrapped in swathings of maroon silk. She held a steadying hand on both as her chair whirred back into place between Adam and Peregrine.

"This is just my Phurba" she said, as she set the maroon bundle on the table. "We'll get back to that later. This is the treasure I want to share with you first."

As she laid the wooden box open on the tea table before them and lifted the lid, an elusive whiff of Malaysian spices wafted upward. Leaning in, Peregrine saw that what lay inside was an oblong-shaped bundle, lovingly wrapped in an age-darkened envelope of antique yellow silk.

The perfume of spices grew stronger as Julian unfolded the wrappings to reveal what Peregrine took at first sight to be a large, folded Oriental fan, except that it was not tapered at one end. Closer inspection revealed that what would have been the end sticks were, in fact, the stiffened brocade cover boards of a long, very narrow book, perhaps two inches wide and eighteen inches long. Its parchment pages were not actually bound together, but merely sandwiched between the brocaded cover boards. The boards themselves were held in place with a silken cord tied in an intricate knot.

"This transcribed Terma is said to have been written personally by the ascetic Nyima," Julian said, carefully loosing the knot and turning back the uppermost cover, "written by his own hand. His name means 'radiant sun.' The text itself is a treatise on spiritual discernment - the capacity to perceive the true road to enlightenment in the midst of many illusory possibilities. It was given to me by a very old friend, long since passed on, with the injunction to keep it safe until such time as I could hand it into the keeping of one who would make himself known to me as its destined custodian."

She fingered the ancient parchment with gentle reverence. ' 'That was almost forty years ago. I am still waiting for that custodian to appear. In the meantime, however, please feel free to acquaint yourselves with Nyima in the semblance of his handwriting. He was an artist as well as a sage."

She lifted the Terma and presented it to Peregrine. He received it gingerly, keenly aware of the text's antiquity. Though smaller, the characters on the uppermost page were as much a work of art as any of the hangings on the walls around them.

After lifting several more pages covered with the graceful script, Peregrine passed the Terma to Christopher, who handed it on to McLeod. The inspector paid it but a cursory examination before giving it into Adam's hands.

A faint tingling set up in Adam's left hand as he received the text, as if the rosary looped around his wrist were emanating a mild electrical charge. One winged eyebrow rose as he hefted the text in his hands.

The tingling intensified, spreading swiftly up his arm, reminding him of the sensation he had experienced back in St. Molaise's Cave, when Tseten first had taken hold of his hand. Even as the comparison sprang to mind, the Terma before him seemed suddenly to come alive, pages lifting and sighing as if with the passage of a breeze otherwise beyond perception. In that same instant, Adam felt an urgent tugging at his senses, like the pull of invisible fingers.

The room around him seemed to blur and fade, except for the Terma, objects and even the people in the room wavering on the brink of transparency. Even as Adam blinked his eyes, trying to clarify the vision, there reappeared before him, superimposed upon the image of the room, the shimmering Lotus Wheel of heavenly lights he had envisioned during his trance on Holy Island. Slowly the lotus began to unfold, revealing at its heart a light-shrouded human form.