Death of an Adept

Chapter Twelve

THE plateau melted away. In a flickering shift of imagery, the golden light of the presence chamber yielded to illumination of another kind as Adam found himself standing over a figure stretched out upon a burning funeral pyre. The gaunt face upturned toward the sky was that of Alan Lockhart.

Lockhart was struggling feebly, mouth agape in a silent moan, but a ponderous array of iron chains held him fast-fettered to the pyre. The flames licked up from the edges of the pyre, and the chains glowed cherry-red in the firelight, hot enough to brand the cringing flesh, but Lockhart's body itself remained unconsumed. In a flash of intuitive insight, Adam realized that he was seeing Lockhart's condition translated into dream terms.

He realized further that in order to bring about any change in that condition, he himself would have to enter Lockhart's dream. Such personal intercession carried its own share of risks, but Adam was no stranger to confronting such dangers. Touching his ring to his lips, he commended himself and his work to the Light and, with that prayer still resonant at the back of his mind, spread his arms above Alan Lockhart's body.

Lockhart's moans became audible as Adam bent nearer. Drawing a deep breath, he reached down among the embers and seized one of the binding lengths of chain. The iron was blistering hot to the touch, but Adam bit back on a gasp of pain and tightened his grip, giving the chain a sharp, rending tug.

The chain snapped and fell away. Teeth clenched hard, Adam reached for another length. As he continued to break his way through the other man's chains, the pyre-flames began to die out and Lockhart's struggles diminished. By the time Adam had severed the final length, the embers were all but dead.

Though himself unharmed, Adam's pulse was pounding with the effort as he drew back. Lockhart's unmoving body now wore a robe of pristine white. As Adam turned his gaze heavenward, he at last became aware that the ground on which he stood was situated halfway up the side of a rocky mountain. High on the summit could be seen the outline of a mighty temple built of hewn stone - clearly their intended destination.

Returning his gaze to Lockhart, he called his name aloud. Lockhart's eyelids flickered back in wonder and surprise. Smiling gentle reassurance, Adam held out his hand.

"You can get up now," he told him. "Rise and come with me."

With Adam's assistance, Lockhart eased himself down off the pyre. Mutely he allowed Adam to guide him up the rugged slope. The very act of climbing, paradoxically, seemed to restore to him a measure of strength. Before long he was able to relinquish the support of Adam's arm and proceed unaided.

Their ascent took them through a shallow gorge which bore signs of having been used as a stone quarry. As they emerged on the other side, Lockhart uttered a muffled exclamation of discovery and hastened forward. The cause of his excitement was a small sapling rooted in a bed of loose earth among a nest of small boulders.

"Acacia!" Lockhart exclaimed softly.

The word brought Adam enlightenment. Acacia was revered among Freemasons, and Lockhart was an ardent Freemason. According to Masonic legend, it was an acacia sprig that had marked out the hidden grave of Hiram Abiff, the master-architect of the temple of Jerusalem and the father of Masonic tradition.

As Lockhart reached out with trembling hands to pluck the sprig from the earth, Adam smiled - for he now knew the general structure that Lockhart's encounter with the Master would take. The older man clasped the sprig to his heart as he hurried on toward the temple above with renewed speed.

The temple was a great domed edifice surrounded on all four sides by a colonnaded porch. Lockhart made his way as if by instinct to a lofty portal in the west facade, where the frieze above was enriched with colored marble and semiprecious stones arranged in a complex pattern of geometric designs. Shining pillars flanked the portal, cast in bronze and polished to the lustre of burnished gold.

At Lockhart's word and touch, the doors parted. Adam followed him through, for he, too, had the Mason's Word. An aisle paved like a chequerboard stretched toward the central crossing, where a dais elevated the high altar beneath the soaring vault of a golden dome. Waiting before the altar stood a tall figure majestically garbed in the white-and-red vestments of a Masonic Templar of the highest degree. When Lockhart would have faltered to a standstill, the figure lifted a white-gauntleted hand and beckoned both men closer with a gesture both of welcome and command.

Adam accompanied Lockhart to the foot of the dais, where the Templar Master accorded them a solemn bow of greeting before accepting Lockhart's acacia sprig and conducting him forward to the altar. From that altar the Templar Master took a furled scroll bound with a tasselled golden cord, reverently setting the acacia sprig in its place between the altar's two tall candles before presenting the scroll to Lockhart with a gentle smile.

The look on Lockhart's face was one of awe, but encouraged by a sign from the Master, he slipped the golden bindings from the scroll and carefully unfurled it. The inscription within was limned in letters of fiery gold, clearly decipherable to Adam from where he stood:

Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter thou into the joy of thy lord.

Lockhart gazed at the scroll in tearful wonder, looking up as the Templar Master addressed him by name.

Alan David Lockhart, with honor and love have you discharged all your appointed tasks - and more than was ever asked. Take to your heart these words of immortal favor, knowing that you have been faithful to the last. The battle has been well-fought, and the victory won. Nothing now remains but for you to return Home.

Lockhart's hands trembled as he reverently cradled the scroll to his chest, but a faint shadow disturbed his look of joy.

"Reverend Master, I am awed and humbled to hear such words of grace," he said meekly, "but I think I must not come before I fulfill a promise sworn years ago to one whose love I would never, ever betray. I have lived by my honor, and by the honor of God. To be forsworn at my life's end would set all my life's previous honor at naught, and would do no honor to Him whom I have served."

What promise have you left unfulfilled? the Master inquired.

Lockhart's face took on a sad, wistful expression as he lowered his gaze.

"When my daughter was eight, I promised that on her wedding day I would place her hand in that of her chosen beloved," he said softly. "She - tells me she loves the man who stands beside me, and he has vowed that he loves her." Lock-hart lifted his gaze boldly to the Master's. "If this match is not meant to be, then I have no wish to precipitate an action that will make them both unhappy, merely to satisfy a dying man's last wish. But if he is prepared to cherish her as I have done, then I - would see them wed before I die. Do I ask too much?"

"I think he does not," Adam interposed quietly, "for I have some inkling of the love that lies between Alan Lockhart and his daughter - and of its reflection, in the love that she and I share."

His body is spent, the Master replied, turning his gaze on Adam. Would you condemn him to further suffering?

"It is he who chooses thus," Adam replied, "and only out of love. For my own part, I have already undertaken to unburden him of such suffering, insofar as I am able, so that the time remaining to him will be no heavy penance. If Alan is determined to honor his promise, despite the cost in pain, is this so great a favor to ask, from so good and faithful a servant?"

The Master's stern gaze softened, the majestic head inclining slightly.

You plead eloquently, Master Healer. Very well, so be it.

Then his attention returned to Lockhart. Your daughter's intended spouse is well worthy of her. Go now in peace, Alan Lockhart, and may that peace abide with you until vou come to claim the place which has long been prepared for you.

Lockhart closed his eyes and bowed his head in reverent acceptance of this decree. As he did so, the temple and its environs dissolved in a ripple of light. Adam experienced a familiar moment of disorientation as his spirit and Lockhart's were left momentarily adrift.

Then his mind's eye sought and found the twin silver cords that were their lifelines, and he drew a deep breath as, still in trance, he opened his eyes and gently laid a hand on Lockhart's shoulder.

"Alan, it's time to begin settling back into your body now," he said aloud. "I'm here with you. When you wake, your conscious mind will not remember what has passed here, but your inner self will retain full knowledge of the revelations you have gained, and give you guidance in the times to come. Come back when you're ready, feeling comfortable and at peace, free from care and pain. That peace and comfort will remain with you from this moment onward, until you loose the silver cord and set out on the journey Home."

Closing his eyes again, Adam drew the other soul with him along the silver cords. Together they passed through the gateway that stood between the Inner Planes and the outer world. The transition marked the end of their directly experienced rapport, but Adam slid his hand down to Lockhart's wrist and remained lightly in contact, feeling his patient's pulse steady beneath his fingers, sensing his breathing light and easy. Satisfied that both he and his subject had achieved their desired objective, Adam allowed himself the luxury of a few moments' private reflection and meditation, pondering the loving and courageous soul who was Alan Lockhart.

A short while later, a knock at the door recalled Adam from his contemplation. Rousing himself, he looked around and released Lockhart's wrist as Ximena and her mother entered the room, their arms filled with parcels. Teresa started to speak, then stopped short, her dark eyes widening in sudden alarm as she stared at her husband's still form.

"It's all right, he's only asleep," Adam hastened to tell her.

Teresa recovered herself and forced a brittle smile. "I'm sorry. It's just that he looks so relaxed. I thought, for a moment…"

"I've been using hypnosis to help him bring the pain under control," Adam explained. "It's been my experience that the benefits of this kind of therapy are often enhanced by the laying on of hands. As you can see, your husband proved an excellent subject. When he comes back to us, you should see a significant improvement."

This prediction proved true. When Lockhart roused a short while later, he declared himself to be feeling better than he had in months.

"You'll still need some medication from one day to the next," Adam advised his patient, "but not so much as to cloud your senses. It isn't a cure, of course, but I think you can at least look forward to seeing the rest of your life through clear eyes."

Lockhart reached out and fondly patted his daughter's hand. "Just let me see you safely through your wedding, my girl," he told her with a smile. "That's the only thing that matters now."

"Hush!" Teresa reproved. "That's no way for you to talk."

But there were tears welling in her eyes. Adam could see she had guessed the truth - that her husband had just numbered his remaining span of days.

Well into the afternoon, toward the time when Adam and Ximena must head for the airport to collect Philippa, Alan Lockhart was still bearing up well, reminiscing animatedly with Teresa and Ximena. Dr. Saloa came to check in, and was astonished to observe his patient's good spirits and apparent lack of pain.

"He's still hanging on by a thread, but now I know why," Adam confided, when Saloa drew him aside to inquire about the morning's experiment with hypnosis. "He promised Ximena he'd be at her wedding. She was eight at the time."

Saloa blew out softly through pursed lips. "I knew he was stubborn," he murmured. "I guess it took a psychiatrist to get it out of him. The question is, Can he hold on for another thirty-six hours?"

"I think so," Adam replied, "though you'll want to continue his previous medication at about half the dose. And you are planning to attend the wedding, aren't you? I know it's Christmas Eve, and that's family time, but it would mean a great deal to this family. Alan thinks very highly of you, and he hasn't got long."

"Do you think he'll see the new year?" Saloa asked quietly.

"No. I don't think he'll see Christmas morning."

Saloa sighed, shaking his head. "A tough call. But it will be a mercy."

"Aye, it will. For all concerned."

"Right," Saloa said with another sigh. "I'll see to that change of medication on his orders. I expect you and Ximena ought to be heading for the airport."

The pair of them met Philippa's plane at San Francisco Airport, where holiday congestion only amplified the usual stir that accompanied Adam's mother when she travelled. Philippa embraced Ximena warmly, even before greeting Adam, holding her in a comforting hug for a long moment; and though they would have taken her back to the hospital to meet Ximena's family straightaway, she elected to retire early instead.

"We'll all be more rested in the morning," she said, firmly bidding them good night at the door to her hotel room. "Ximena, ring your mother from the lobby and tell her I'm exhausted from jet lag. See if she can join us for breakfast tomorrow, and then the two of you take some time for yourselves tonight."

"I adore your mother," Ximena said as they returned to the hotel car park. "When it comes to making a grand entrance, she'd put the likes of Cleopatra to shame."

Adam acknowledged Ximena's tribute with a chuckle. At seventy-seven, Philippa Sinclair had lost none of her ability to command attention wherever she went. On this occasion, she had been the cause of a minor stir when one helpful gentleman had collided with another whilst vying for the privilege of retrieving one of her suitcases from the baggage carousel.

" 'Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety,' " he quoted lightly. "My father was fond of saying that he was glad duelling had gone out of fashion by the time he met Philippa Rhodes, else he would never have had a moment's peace in his life. Do you like the ring?" His mother had handed him the red morocco-leather ring box once the three of them were settled in Ximena's car.

"Like it?" she exclaimed. "It's magnificent! - though you do realize that I'm also going to have to have a plain gold band to wear when I'm working."

"She told me you'd say that," Adam said happily. "Will you mind waiting until after we get back to Scotland? I don't think there will be time tomorrow."

"You can marry me with the Rhodes sapphire," she replied, hooking her arm through his. "And then I'll wear that as my engagement ring. Meanwhile, there was some talk of that Fisherman's Wharf expedition we missed yesterday, if you don't think it will be too cold."

Adam grinned and gave a snort. "This is San Francisco, my dear, not tropical Scotland."

She laughed with delight as they got into the car.

A light breeze was blowing steadily off the ocean as they made their tour of the many open-air establishments for which the Wharf was famous, dining on fried clams and chips and then indulging in gourmet ice cream at Ghirardelli Square. Though Adam thoroughly enjoyed the experience, he couldn't help noticing that Ximena's mood had darkened with the coming of sunset.

"Not having second thoughts, are you?" he asked, as they paused to gaze out at the lights on Alcatraz Island. "About the wedding, I mean?"

Ximena looked slightly startled at the suggestion. "Good heavens, no!" she exclaimed. "What makes you ask?"

Adam shrugged lightly. "You've been rather silent since we stopped to watch the sun go down. I was wondering what was on your mind."

"Nothing of any consequence," Ximena said, not looking at him. "It's just that - "

She paused, her brow furrowing pensively. "Adam, this all seems so… rushed. There's so much to do, and so little time to do it in." She shook her head. "When I phoned Edinburgh Royal Infirmary to ask about the possibility of getting my old job back, the last thing I expected was to be told to show up for work in ten days' time. Much as I appreciate being considered a unique asset, you have to admit that's cutting things a bit fine at this end."

"You don't have to go back to ERI," Adam said. "There are bound to be other jobs."

Ximena pulled a slightly crooked grin. "But I like that one. After all, I helped set up the program. No, this is nothing short of a gift from heaven, and I'd be a fool not to take it.

At the same time, though, the prospect of actually going means that - "

She stopped short and glanced away furtively. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Whenever I let myself start thinking about the future, I automatically think about - "

"Just keep reminding yourself that there will be an end to it all," Adam said gently, well aware of the double meaning in his words.

Ximena swallowed audibly, not lifting her head.

"Adam," she said in a small voice, "you see a lot farther than most people. Do you know how much time my father has left?"

The question was accompanied by a searching look that Adam chose not to meet.

"That's crediting me with an omniscience I don't possess," he replied.

"It isn't long now, is it?" she persisted.

Adam could recall only too vividly Lockhart's brief exchange with the Master.

"No," he acknowledged. "A matter of days, I would guess. No more."

Ximena lowered her eyes. "I'm glad," she murmured - then shivered as if chilled by her own words. "Is it wrong of me to want it over and done with?"

Adam gathered her hands in his. "No," he told her gently. "I'd say it was only natural."

Lost in her own thoughts, Ximena hardly seemed to hear him.

"I feel as if I've been saying goodbye to him for months," she continued bleakly. "This whole city is full of memories from my childhood. Everywhere I go, I find myself thinking, This is where Dad used to buy us ice cream, or This is where we used to come for picnics, or This is where he used to take my brothers and me on Saturday afternoons. It's hard to think of all that coming to an end."

"Then perhaps it would be better to start thinking of it as a beginning," Adam said quietly. "We are made for eternity," he went on. "There are no limits to what we can aspire to become - only limits to how much we're able to see at any given time. The caterpillar enters the chrysalis knowing nothing about what it's like to have wings, but during that entombment it becomes transformed into a creature of flight.

"Everything we experience in this lifetime helps to prepare us for transformations yet to come," he continued. "And if we make a conscious effort to prepare ourselves well, the approach to death brings with it a shift in perspective that enables us to catch glimpses of the wonders that lie ahead. Saint Paul put it rather well. He said: 'For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face. Now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known."

Ximena eyed him quizzically. "Anyone listening to you would think you'd made this journey often enough to be familiar with the route. But then, I suppose you've done enough counselling in this area to make you an expert by association."

Adam thought it wisest not to comment, for there were still untold truths about himself that Ximena was not yet ready to hear, especially not now.

"Bereavement counselling does give one a somewhat different perspective on life," he allowed. "But that makes it no less true that your father's death is part of your own life's experience. He would want you to use it to good purpose - not as a source of grief, but as a foundation for new hope."

Ximena sighed as if suddenly weary, slipping her arms around Adam's waist to rest her head against his chest.

"I can see that you believe what you're saying," she whispered. "Just stay close by my side, and see me through to the end."

"You know I will, my darling," he murmured, tenderly stroking her hair.