stationary grandeur of the Temple Ship
‘Oh, Qwenqwo?’
‘Now then – let us face our fears together!’
They hesitated before the smooth flat expanse of ivory that was the blank face of the great horned head. Mo felt a fall in temperature, with the estuary breeze cutting through her clothes to numb her skin. The sound of the waves lapping against the prow beneath her seemed strangely muted in her ears, as if the imminence of change were blunting all of her senses.
‘You must promise me, Qwenqwo, that you’ll leave me here. As soon as you’ve helped me find the dream world.’
‘I can make no such promise.’
‘I won’t be alone, Qwenqwo,’ she spoke softly. ‘I have a very powerful friend to keep me company.’
Qwenqwo gazed about the Ship with evident scepticism. ‘I have no intention of abandoning you.’
‘Please do it for me, Qwenqwo.’
‘If I left you alone and you came to harm, I would never forgive myself. So I shall not leave you where there is the slightest danger. Accept my presence or there will be no entry into the world of dreams.’
Mo reached out and brushed the gnarled right shoulder of her protector. In that instant she knew what she had always instinctively assumed – that the emotion she felt for this man, who owed her nothing yet would surely die to protect her, was the love she might have felt for a father – perhaps even father and grandfather combined – which had been cruelly withheld from her life. Tears came into her eyes with the depth of that realisation as she gazed about her at the silent titan that was the Ship, which held itself so utterly still in spite of the movements of waves or weather.
‘Then please do it now, Qwenqwo. You must use your talisman to help me communicate with a mind that doesn’t think in words.’
Qwenqwo sighed, settling himself cross-legged before the blank ivory face on the foredeck, inviting Mo to do the same. ‘Put both your hands on the runestone I place here on the deck before you. I will put my hands over yours. Think only of your fears – your concern for Alan and Kate.’
She did so, closing her eyes. Mo’s hands folded aroundthe oval of jade, her fingers numbed by the cold, yet she held it tightly, feeling the intricate carving that covered every inch of the ancient surface, sensing the power and mystery that brooded there. Her nostrils felt congested, as if she couldn’t easily breathe through them. When she parted her lips her mouth felt unusually dry, and then the briny taste of the sea arrived onto her tongue, a taste that also reminded her of iron – of blood. With a start she opened her eyes again and saw that Qwenqwo had sliced open his right palm, allowing the blood to flow over her hands.
‘I don’t have the time to invoke the mysteries in the age-old way, so it must be thus, brutally direct.’
Mo watched how the blood ran through her fingers and over the deeply patterned surface of the Soul Eye that had once borne her own image in an urgent message to Alan, at the time she was prisoner of the false Mage of Dreams. She shivered as the blood of the true Mage of Dreams empowered the runestone on the ivory deck, uniting his talisman to the Ship through the living bond of his blood.
She closed her eyes again, waited a minute – two minutes – but nothing happened.
‘Why won’t it respond?’
Qwenqwo patted her hands, as if to encourage her to be patient. She heard the Mage of Dreams chanting, a whispered incantation, hymnal and powerful.
Still nothing happened.
Against the continuing murmur of the dwarf mage’s incantations, she brought pictures into her mind. The moment she, Mark, Alan and Kate had first met at Padraig’s sawmill in Clonmel. The summer of sandcastles and adventures that had followed. The growing bond of friendship that had united them then, and forever afterwards. Slievenamon … That feeling of seduction …
She felt the enchantment again, so powerfully her eyes sprang open. In the
‘Oh, Qwenqwo?’
‘Now then – let us face our fears together!’
They hesitated before the smooth flat expanse of ivory that was the blank face of the great horned head. Mo felt a fall in temperature, with the estuary breeze cutting through her clothes to numb her skin. The sound of the waves lapping against the prow beneath her seemed strangely muted in her ears, as if the imminence of change were blunting all of her senses.
‘You must promise me, Qwenqwo, that you’ll leave me here. As soon as you’ve helped me find the dream world.’
‘I can make no such promise.’
‘I won’t be alone, Qwenqwo,’ she spoke softly. ‘I have a very powerful friend to keep me company.’
Qwenqwo gazed about the Ship with evident scepticism. ‘I have no intention of abandoning you.’
‘Please do it for me, Qwenqwo.’
‘If I left you alone and you came to harm, I would never forgive myself. So I shall not leave you where there is the slightest danger. Accept my presence or there will be no entry into the world of dreams.’
Mo reached out and brushed the gnarled right shoulder of her protector. In that instant she knew what she had always instinctively assumed – that the emotion she felt for this man, who owed her nothing yet would surely die to protect her, was the love she might have felt for a father – perhaps even father and grandfather combined – which had been cruelly withheld from her life. Tears came into her eyes with the depth of that realisation as she gazed about her at the silent titan that was the Ship, which held itself so utterly still in spite of the movements of waves or weather.
‘Then please do it now, Qwenqwo. You must use your talisman to help me communicate with a mind that doesn’t think in words.’
Qwenqwo sighed, settling himself cross-legged before the blank ivory face on the foredeck, inviting Mo to do the same. ‘Put both your hands on the runestone I place here on the deck before you. I will put my hands over yours. Think only of your fears – your concern for Alan and Kate.’
She did so, closing her eyes. Mo’s hands folded aroundthe oval of jade, her fingers numbed by the cold, yet she held it tightly, feeling the intricate carving that covered every inch of the ancient surface, sensing the power and mystery that brooded there. Her nostrils felt congested, as if she couldn’t easily breathe through them. When she parted her lips her mouth felt unusually dry, and then the briny taste of the sea arrived onto her tongue, a taste that also reminded her of iron – of blood. With a start she opened her eyes again and saw that Qwenqwo had sliced open his right palm, allowing the blood to flow over her hands.
‘I don’t have the time to invoke the mysteries in the age-old way, so it must be thus, brutally direct.’
Mo watched how the blood ran through her fingers and over the deeply patterned surface of the Soul Eye that had once borne her own image in an urgent message to Alan, at the time she was prisoner of the false Mage of Dreams. She shivered as the blood of the true Mage of Dreams empowered the runestone on the ivory deck, uniting his talisman to the Ship through the living bond of his blood.
She closed her eyes again, waited a minute – two minutes – but nothing happened.
‘Why won’t it respond?’
Qwenqwo patted her hands, as if to encourage her to be patient. She heard the Mage of Dreams chanting, a whispered incantation, hymnal and powerful.
Still nothing happened.
Against the continuing murmur of the dwarf mage’s incantations, she brought pictures into her mind. The moment she, Mark, Alan and Kate had first met at Padraig’s sawmill in Clonmel. The summer of sandcastles and adventures that had followed. The growing bond of friendship that had united them then, and forever afterwards. Slievenamon … That feeling of seduction …
She felt the enchantment again, so powerfully her eyes sprang open. In the
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