Dagger Magic

With a gentle exhalation, the old lama enfolded the ring in one graceful, fine-boned hand and bowed his head over it for a long moment. As he did so, his lined face underwent a change, one eyebrow lifting in thoughtful speculation. He gave his younger counterpart a wordless nod as he emerged from his short reverie.

Jigme acknowledged the unspoken message with a respectful bow, folded hands touched to his forehead, before rising to his feet and stepping back into his boots, departing the way he had come.

Jigme was absent for the better part of three-quarters of an hour. The waiting weighed heavily on Peregrine, but Adam appeared relaxed and composed, evidently confident of the outcome of Jigme's inquiries. After assuring his colleagues of Jigme's benign intent, Adam swivelled round to contemplate the graceful Buddha figure in the corner of the room, open palms cupped one atop the other between his splayed knees, and soon eased into a meditative trance. Though such composure eluded Peregrine, he tried to at least follow McLeod's example, either dozing or also meditating, head nodding over clasped hands; but as the minutes ticked ponderously away, the young artist found it increasingly difficult to hide his own impatience.

At length, unable to keep still, he got to his feet and wandered over to the room's one window, which looked out toward the north of the island. The sky was glowering, and a light rain blurred the vista of rocky heights and wind-sculpted trees and shrubs. To keep his hands from fidgeting, he thrust them into his trouser pockets - and encountered the cool metallic shape of his own Adept ring. As he surreptitiously slipped it on, he realized that McLeod had done the same. He could not decide whether he found that dismaying or encouraging.

Just when Peregrine was beginning to think he could bear the suspense no longer, his straining ears heard the front door open and close, followed by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. As all three men turned toward the doorway, it swung open to reveal Lama Jigme, now empty-handed, clad for the weather outside. He carried with him the outdoor scents of sea salt and wild heather, and his face held an odd mixture of satisfaction and concern.

"Rinpoche has agreed to see you," he announced. "He invites you to attend him at once at Saint Molaise's cave. I'm afraid it's almost a mile from here, but the trip will be worth your trouble. The accumulated power of many centuries of holy men has made it a secure retreat where you and he may speak freely, without fear of any intrusion from outside."

Adam was already on his feet, eager yet composed.

"We'll come at once," he told Jigme. "Thank you very much."

They donned their shoes and outerwear in silence, McLeod and Peregrine exchanging uneasy glances as they followed Jigme and Adam down the stairs. Outside, a stiff breeze had risen to accompany the rain, tugging at hats and coats as they set out southward along the grassy coastal footpath. After half a mile, a leftward bend to the path revealed a distant gleam of white thrusting upward from a far promontory.

"The old lighthouse," Jigme noted, gesturing in that direction as they negotiated a patch of mud. "When funding permits, we plan to refurbish the keeper's house as part of the retreat facilities. The lighthouse itself has been disused for some time, but the sea jetty will provide a useful second landing place for bringing supplies to the island."

They continued walking, kept from chill by their exertion, though a light rain continued to fall. The footpath became more mud than grass, not improved by the hooves of four shaggy, dun-colored Soay sheep with lambs at heel, who skittered off in alarm when McLeod's trenchcoat gave a particularly startling snap in the wind. A hundred yards beyond loomed a square rock outcropping that Jigme identified as the Judgement Stone, said to be the seat where the sixth-century St. Molaise had been wont to give his judgements to the pilgrims who came here to seek his guidance. Skirting the stone, Jigme led the party left up a succession of irregular steps paved with flat stones, to approach a wide, irregularly shaped cave-mouth opening in the cliff side.

The sea breeze died and the rain ceased as they climbed. The ensuing hush was deep and profound. Both McLeod and Peregrine pricked up their ears, listening intently to the silence. For all its outward calm, the air here was strangely vital, charged with expectancy.