Dagger Magic

Chapter Twenty-Five

DIRECTLY across from Adam, Peregrine heard his chief draw a sharp breath and saw him recoil slightly, dark head flung back, his surprised gaze focused - or perhaps unfocused - somewhere beyond Peregrine, perhaps even beyond the confines of the room. No one else seemed to see anything except Adam's reaction, but Peregrine, glancing over his shoulder, caught just a glimpse of a ghostly shimmer in the air, like gossamer in moonlight. When he himself tried to capture it, however, the impression dissolved as if written on water.

"Does - anyone else see him?" Adam murmured huskily. "Dear God, the goodness that accompanies him… But too bright…"

As one hand lifted to shade his bedazzled eyes, the other brought the Terma to his breast in an awed embrace. The mala wrapped around his left wrist dangled free, its black beads clicking against the tabletop, and McLeod leaned in tentatively, his blue gaze flitting between Adam's face and the empty space beyond Peregrine, then shifting to Julian in question.

"Shall I offer myself as a vessel?" he asked her. "I'm willing, if the sage needs a voice."

Lady Julian shook her hand gently, her gaze not shifting from Adam and the Terma.

"Thank you, Noel, but I think not. This is a test - and Adam must prove for himself the measure of Tseten's teaching. What we can do is provide a bit of support. Christopher, please bring me an incense-stick and that holder, from over by the jade Buddha."

McLeod looked none too convinced, for he was well aware that Adam's psychic gifts ordinarily did not run to mediumship, but he made no objection as Christopher rose to comply, instead lending a hand with Peregrine to clear the empty cups from the table. When the priest returned, handing Julian a box of matches and then inserting the incense-stick in its holder, Julian bade him position it directly in front of Adam on the map-spread tabletop.

Their chief ceased shading his eyes as she bade McLeod switch off the gooseneck lamp, but his gaze remained unfocused, abstractedly intense, still squinting against a glare that only he could see. He did not seem to notice as she struck a match and touched fire to the incense-stick.

"Adam, look at this light," Julian said with calm authority.

He complied, his gaze tracking immediately to the flame, but even in the diminished light of her match and the candles around the room, his pupils were contracted to mere pinpoints. He blinked as she extinguished the match and then blew out the incense-stick, his gaze now fixing on the ruby-like glow that remained at the tip, flitting briefly to the tendril of spicy smoke that began to curl upward.

"Look at the light," Julian repeated softly. "Let nothing else intrude upon your field of vision. Let that single point of light represent to you the totality of all that is. It is the om, the beginning and the ending, the seed of all diversity and the sum of its reunification. It is the inexpressible Absolute, infinitely many and primordially One. In beholding it, you behold all things."

Her voice lulled and urged calm and detachment, a silvery net of sound inexorably drawing Adam out of himself and into profound trance. He could feel his body relaxing visibly, eyelids drooping, yet his soul was still tinglingly aware of that other Presence waiting beyond any physical dimension, entreating his attention. Only vaguely was he conscious of Julian's touch, gently drawing his hands down, bidding him lay the Terma on the table, letting his fingertips still rest lightly upon it.

His respiration slowed, growing more and more shallow until he seemed scarcely to be breathing at all, though still he stared at and through the point of light. After a moment, her own expression one of complete absorption, Lady Julian leaned over and touched him lightly on the heart, throat, and forehead, letting her fingertips linger just above the bridge of his nose, between his eyebrows. Each touch seemed to release a faint chime of distant temple bells deep at the core of his being, rousing distant memories almost to conscious levels.

"Answer me this now, Adam." Julian's voice was at once a caress and an anchor to the here and now. "Where is the physical seat of your consciousness?''

His chest rose on a slow intake of breath, and his answer only barely whispered past his lips.

"In the head, behind the eyes?"

"Then you must move it to a new locus of perception," she said. "Be aware of your left arm - the arm that bears the mala. Imagine how it would be to see through the tips of those ringers, to hear with the palm of that hand. Let what you see draw your mind to another location."

Adam's physical gaze was still focused on the jewel of fire tipping the incense-stick. Sunk deep in trance, he had bade his own volition recede into drifting quiescence, malleable to Julian's direction. He drew a deep breath, imagining that he and the fire were being drawn together in a single unified point localized just between his eyebrows. The fusion was sensible as a tingling feeling in his forehead, anchored by the feather-touch of Julian's fingertips. With it came the fleeting recollection that Tseten also had touched him thus.

As Julian took her hand away, the tingling sensation began to spread toward the back of Adam's head, creeping down his neck and out along the length of his left arm toward the center of his left hand. It seemed to intensify as it passed through the coils of black beads wound around his wrist. A companion image rose up from the Terma beneath his hands, spiralling up like a whirlwind and resolving into the clearly discernible shape of an elderly Tibetan ascetic with a refined face and graceful, expressive hands, who might have been Jigme in old age.

The figure beckoned with grave urgency. Joyfully Adam's spirit rose up to meet him. His arm with the mala lifted in entreaty, the hand snapping shut as if attempting to grasp something not easy to hold.

"A pen," Adam murmured breathlessly. "I need a pen and paper…."

Peregrine was already delving into his sketchbox, turning one of his sketch pads to a blank page, pushing it across the table to Adam and then rummaging for a pencil. Before he could find one, Christopher produced a ballpoint from an inner pocket and set it in Adam's left hand. Adam blinked once, deeply, then set the pen to the blank page in front of him and began to write, his gaze never wavering from the glowing point of light atip the incense-stick, his pupils now gone wide and dilated.

Allowing for the difference of writing implement, the characters that appeared beneath Adam's pen might have been inscribed by the same hand that had penned the Terma beneath his other hand, centuries before. Gradually the Tibetan characters filled most of a page. Adam's hand was shaking by the time he finished, and the pen slid from his relaxing fingers as he subsided back into the stillness of deep trance.

"Adam, rest now," Julian murmured, "but remain in trance, and hear and remember everything that's said. There may be further work for you."

Quietly she took the sketch pad from under his hands, bidding McLeod switch the lamp back on as she tilted the page for the others' inspection.

"Can you read that?" McLeod asked Julian, a grizzled brow raising in question.

Julian shook her head. "Not really. Perhaps a word here and there. Like Nyima's Terma, this is written in a variant of Lantsa, which I've also seen in old stone carvings. But this dialect is antique - as different from modern Tibetan as Old English is from modern English."

Clearing his throat, Christopher reached across to take the sketch pad.

"It's just possible I may be able to shed some light on this," he said quietly, countering Peregrine's look of faint surprise with an almost embarrassed little smile. ' 'No, I don't ordinarily read obscure Tibetan dialects. But Saint Paul observes that among those instructed by the Holy Spirit, some have the gift of tongues and others the gift of interpreting the same. I happen to be one of the latter - sometimes, at least."

Ignoring Peregrine's look of astonishment, Christopher cast a practiced eye over the page of script, shaking his head slightly, then tore a fresh page from the pad underneath it and set both on the table before him, also scooting his chair closer.

"Well, let's see what we can do with this," he said, pulling closer the pen Adam had discarded and then crossing himself. "Care to give me a jump-start, Julian? It saves time if someone else takes me down - and 1 have a feeling that time is one thing we may not have much of."

"Always happy to oblige," Julian replied, and wheeled around behind Peregrine to pull between him and Christopher. "Do you want the light back out?"

"No need. This either works or it doesn't."

"Suit yourself. When you're settled, take a good, deep breath and let it out."

The priest complied, laying both hands flat on the table before him and closing his eyes.

"Breathe in again, very deeply, and let it all the way out," Julian said. "And when I give your signal, you will let yourself sink profoundly into meditation, ready to open yourself to the gift of the Holy Spirit. One…"

She traced the sign of the cross on the back of his right hand.

"Two…" She signed his left hand in the same way.

"And three."

As she touched his forehead on the count of three, he gave a faint shiver and appeared to relax more deeply into himself, though he made no other movement for several seconds, only breathing shallowly in and out. At length, however, his lips parted.

"Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in Thy sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer," he said softly, quoting from the Psalms.

When he opened his eyes, it was as if a candle had been kindled within him, lighting up his whole aspect with inner luminance as he turned his gaze to the page of text Adam had transcribed.

As Christopher scanned down the page, his lips silently sounding out the syllables, Peregrine at first feared that the text was beyond the priest, despite his reputed gift. But then Christopher took up the pen and began to write on the fresh sheet of paper, never faltering, covering most of the page with his neat, disciplined handwriting until, with a flourish, he inscribed a circled cross at the bottom and laid down the pen.

"Consummation est. Deo gratias," he murmured, letting his eyes drift closed again.

At once, Lady Julian leaned in to lay her hand on one of his.

"Thank you, Christopher. You've done very well. I'm going to count backwards now from three, and that will be your signal to return to normal consciousness, remembering in detail all of what you have just read and written. Three… Two… One." She gave his hand a squeeze. "Come back now."

Christopher drew a deep breath and opened his eyes, blinked once, then absently crossed himself again as he exhaled and reached for the page he had written. He suddenly sat forward as his eyes skimmed down the page.

"Good God, when I remarked about not having much time, little did I realize how true that was," he said, his glance flitting briefly around the table. "And it was, indeed, Nyima who spoke to Adam through the link of the Tertna - though he sounds a good deal like our own Contact. Listen to this."

"Adam, pay close attention," Julian interjected, before Christopher could begin reading. "Remain in trance, but listen very carefully. Go on, Christopher."

With a nod, Christopher began reading.

"Those who will oppose you are known of old, the evil ministers of many incarnations who seek dominance over devils and demons in the name of that one who is master of the masters of evil. The teachings of the false Termas they now seek spell gathering darkness in all its forms: the ignorance that comes from the rejection of wisdom; the blindness that comes with the refusal to see; the evil that comes from the abjuration of truth.

"By this time tomorrow, their agents will be poised to recover their long-hidden prize. If this cannot be prevented, then great will be their victory - perhaps even a victory of Shadow over Light. But in Sinclair-la lies the knowledge and the power to resist the evil ministers, to separate them from their demonic protectors and keep the false Termas from their hands.'''

As Christopher lowered the piece of paper, McLeod was rubbing at his eyes behind his glasses.

"By this time tomorrow," he muttered bleakly. "And he's essentially reiterated what we already knew: that Adam has the power and the knowledge to pull this off - except that we still don't know how to access it. That's why Adam had us come here tonight: to help him bring Tseten's teaching from the unconscious to the conscious."

Julian had leaned across to take Adam's transcription from Christopher, and now began to compare it to the Terma.

"I'm a little surprised that the sage wasn't more forthcoming, then," she murmured. "Obviously, it's intended that we've been given enough information to make it all work. Equally obviously, we're still overlooking some key."

' 'I wonder whether it was form rather than substance Tseten was talking about," Peregrine said after a short pause. "I know something's meant to have happened on the island - that Tseten indicated he'd done something - but what do you suppose he meant when he said he proposed to teach Adam what he knows? "

Julian looked up, one grey eyebrow lifting in inquiry.

"Is that what he said? He proposed to teach Adam what he already knows?"

McLeod nodded, his gaze suddenly intense as he stared at her. "I can quote him verbatim. He said, '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.' And then he said to Adam, 'I can teach you to know what you know.' "

Julian nodded, a faint smile touching her withered lips as she laid transcript and translation aside.

"Now I understand," she said. "It's precisely what I might have expected of Rinpoche. All of the world's great spiritual traditions have certain concepts and principles in common - what Jung called archetypes, the conceptual foundation stones of all mythologies, regardless of cultural origin. The power and purpose of ritual is to discover and unlock a psychological doorway that will admit the individual to the primordial realm. Many such doorways have been discovered over the history of man's long and hungry quest for the Divine. The point to remember here is that all of them work by way of analogy and metaphor."

Peregrine shook his head. "I'm glad you understand, because I don't."

"Look at it from another angle," Christopher offered. "The trick is to identify the effective principle at the heart of a ritual, and make a translation based on that recognition."

"You mean, like rubbing two sticks together, as opposed to striking a match?'' Peregrine suggested.

"Precisely," Julian said. "In both instances, the necessary element common to both operations is to generate sufficient heat friction to start a combustion reaction. Once you know that much, you can set up an analogous procedure that will do the same thing yet again."

"Then, what you're saying," Peregrine said, "is that Adam will be able to take what he knows and convert it into a form that will be effective against these black Phurba magicians?''

"More or less," Julian said with a smile. "It's basically a matter of transference - -finding a new method to produce a desired result, possibly by taking a familiar tool and using it in a new way. Yes," she mused, her face suddenly thoughtful. "A familiar tool. And you did say 'dagger to dagger,' didn't you, Noel? Now I know why I got out my Phurba when I brought the Terma over."

So saying, she leaned forward to retrieve the Phurba in its maroon swathings, deftly unwrapping the folds of figured silk until its bulky form was revealed. It was not so fine a specimen as the one on Holy Island, but it radiated something of the same kind of authoritative aura.

"Yes, indeed," Julian breathed, as she took the Phurba in her hands. "The use of ritual blades for the direction of energy is common to many magical traditions. The link between a Phurba and a skean dubh like Adam's is so obvious, I'm amazed I didn't think of it right away. Both are intended for ritual use, and both have blades forged from meteoric iron. I believe Tseten may have intended that we should exploit the analogy, to channel the teaching he had to impart."

She reached across to lightly touch Adam's near hand with hers.

"Adam, dear, open your eyes. I hope you've brought your skean dubh, because I should like to introduce it to my Phurba."

Slowly Adam nodded, still deep in trance as he opened his eyes, though he made no move to bring out the skean dubh, for she had not asked him that.

"Nyima is still with you, isn't he?" she asked.

He nodded again, too deep to initiate more response than was required, and not at all concerned about that fact.

"That confirms my suspicions. Adam, take out your skean dubh," she said.

Without speaking, he reached into his coat pocket and produced the little Highland blade, half its length sheathed in a close-fitting scabbard mounted with silver interlace at throat and tip, the whole no longer than the span of outspread thumb and little finger. A clear blue stone almost the size of a pigeon's egg graced the end of the pommel, gleaming with a blue fire to match the sapphire in his ring.

"Unsheathe it now," Julian prompted.

As Adam complied, McLeod took the silver-mounted sheath from him and laid it aside, motioning Peregrine to sit well back. Christopher had already scooted his chair back a good six inches so that McLeod could also retreat.

"Now, pay close attention," Julian said, taking her Phurba in her right hand and turning her chair to face Adam squarely, knee to knee, as he did the same. "I ask you now to let your blade greet mine. Let Nyima be your guide, that the traditions vested in each of the blades may come together and comingle in the crucible of shared need and common purpose."

His movements measured and deliberate, Adam closed the hilt of the skean dubh in his right hand and presented it, point upward, as a fencer might salute an opponent. With a softly worded invocation to the Light, Julian raised her Phurba in like manner, then turned the blade sideways and laid it across that of the skean dubh to form a cross.

The moment of contact was accompanied by an invisible crackle of energy, like a discharge of static electricity. As Julian held the two blades together in contact, focusing her mind through the matrix of their joining, the energy began to build, intensifying until the air in the room was humming with the reciprocal buildup of unseen forces.

The feedback culminated in a soundless detonation that impacted on the eardrums like the shock waves from an underground explosion. Abruptly Julian broke contact, bringing the Phurba back to her breast in another salute, Adam only a touch behind her.

Reverting thereafter to slow motion, Julian then embarked on a series of feints and passes resembling t'ai chi katas, each movement studiously formal and exact. Raising his skean dubh like an extension of his hand and arm, Adam copied her every movement, the two blades moving like partners in a complicated dance.

The speed of the drill increased. Julian's hand was steady as a rock as she took Adam through an accelerated round of move and countermove - strike, parry, and riposte - though the blades never touched metal or flesh after that first crossed, meteoric kiss. The exchanges became gradually more complex, an elegant dialogue of demand and response, each engagement more intricate than the last, the blades' deadly interplay all but invisible to the following eye of the beholder.

The exercise climaxed in a sudden musical tone as the two blades finally came together again, with a ringing reverberation like the striking of a temple cymbal. The after-peals resonated within the physical confines of the room like a hail of crystal bullets.

As the echoes subsided, Julian slowly lowered her arm and bowed her head over the Phurba in an attitude of humble thanksgiving. Adam, too, had subsided, head bowed in his hands, the flat of his skean dubh 's blade pressed to his forehead. Julian was breathing hard, her thin, ivorine face showing every line and shadow of its age as she pulled herself together and straightened her spine; but when Peregrine would have leaned toward her in concern, Christopher laid a hand on his shoulder in warning.

"It is accomplished," she declared, in a voice ragged with exhaustion. Her arm was shaking as she extended it to lay the blade of the Phurba on Adam's left shoulder. "Let all the holy powers commanded by these blades henceforth recognize Adam Sinclair as their master. And let all who seek to oppose the Light beware the weapon in his hand, for it is consecrated to the Light, now and forever."

As she spoke these words, Christopher Houston rose silently to come around behind her, making a sign of benediction in the air above her and Adam, lowering his hand then to lay it gently on Julian's bowed shoulder, eyes closing, his lips moving silently in prayer. Her arm was trembling as she withdrew it to cradle the Phurba in her lap, but she visibly drew strength from Christopher's touch, her breathing easing and the color beginning to return to her cheeks. After an interval, she smiled up at him and gave his hand a pat.

"Thank you," she murmured. "I believe I'm all right now."

Her voice had regained its briskness. Nevertheless, Christopher gave her a searching look.

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure. Don't flutter, Christopher." Turning to Peregrine and McLeod, she pulled a rueful moue. "It's times like this that I remember I'm not as young as I used to be. Still, I think we've done some good work tonight. Now, to see what our Adam has to say for himself."

Setting the Phurba back in its nest of silk, she turned to Adam and laid both hands on his shoulders.

"The Work is accomplished, Master of the Hunt," she stated formally, as Christopher returned to his place. "The night is far spent, the day is at hand: Let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armor of light."

So saying, she gave both his shoulders a squeeze and then withdrew. Adam lifted his head and drew a swelling breath, then let it out again in a gusty sigh, his dark eyes finally focusing once again on the material world.

"I sense that we've been very busy," he said somewhat huskily, absently fingering the skean dubh still in his hand.

"Some of us more than others," Christopher replied, with a sidelong glance at Lady Julian.

Tight-lipped, McLeod handed Adam the sheath for the skean dubh, which was slid into place with a nod of thanks before Adam pocketed the weapon.

"I gather you don't remember much," the inspector said dourly. "You'd better read this."

He handed Adam the transcript and Christopher's translation, both of which Adam looked over in silence while he fingered the beads of the mala still wrapped around his wrist.

"It appears our timetable may just be adequate," he said grimly, when he at last looked up. "I expect we won't have much time even to breathe, once we meet up with our opposite numbers in Belfast, but at least we know that things won't get critical until tomorrow night."

"Opposite numbers?" Peregrine said. "You mean - more of us? More Huntsmen?"

Adam smiled wearily as he unwound the mala from his wrist and dropped it into a coat pocket.

"Did you think only Scotland had a Hunting Lodge? I've been in touch with several of our Irish counterparts. They've agreed to give us their full cooperation and assistance. God willing, we should be able to find our missing submarine and recover its contents before our adversaries even know we're onto them."

"Are we onto them?" Peregrine asked. "I mean, Tseten told us what they'll try to do, but we still don't know exactly where. Are we going to dowse for the sub's location tonight? 1 can try it, if you're too tired."

"I am, and I do appreciate your offer, but you have a very short memory," Adam replied. "What happened before, when you tried to link up with the flag?"

Peregrine gave a sheepish grimace. "Then, how are you planning to find it?"

"Fortunately, Tseten seems to have given me an alternate dowsing technique that should get around that little problem - and remember that we do know the general area of the Donegal coast where Mick Scanlan was patrolling." He gestured toward the map still spread on the table. "Given the day I've had, I'm content to let the exact location slide until we've crossed to Ireland tomorrow. I expect there will be less interference, once we're on the same island."

"Is there anything else we can do tonight, then?" Christopher asked. "And would you like me to come along tomorrow?"

"No on both counts, but the offer is duly noted and appreciated," Adam replied. "After the last couple of hours, I'm reasonably confident I'll have what it takes to see this one through, with just Noel and Peregrine to back me up with the Irish crew; but if I'm wrong, mere numbers won't mean anything.

"What you could do, however, is look in on a patient of mine while I'm gone." Briefly he outlined the circumstances of Claire Crawford's case. "We seem to be past the immediate crisis, in that I don't think she'll be causing any more accidents along Carnage Corridor, but I want to make sure she's dealt with the guilt. Once that's accomplished, we can see about the possibility of putting her psychic talents to better use."

"I'll be happy to do that," Christopher agreed.

"Thank you. That will put my mind at ease on that score, at least." He cast his gaze around the rest of the company and sighed wearily. "And on that note, I think it best if the three of us bid you both good night and head for our respective beds for some sleep. Peregrine, I'll give you a full briefing on our travel plans on the way back."