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.