The Wheel of Darkness Read Online Free PDF Page A

Agozyen is something remarkably precious and valuable—or that it is in some way truly extraordinary.”
    Constance nodded. “Do you have any instructions for me?”
    “Rest. Meditate. Complete your initial course of study.” He paused. “I’m skeptical that no one here knows what the Agozyen is—somebody must have peeked. It’s human nature—even here, among these monks. It would help me greatly to know what it was.”
    “I’ll look into it.”
    “Excellent. I know I can count on your discretion.” He hesitated, then turned toward her. “Constance, there’s something I need to ask you.”
    Seeing his expression, her eyes widened, but when she spoke her voice remained calm. “Yes?”
    “You’ve never spoken of your journey to Feversham. At some point you may need to talk about it. When you rejoin me . . . if you’re ready . . .” Again, his voice fell into atypical confusion and indecision.
    Constance looked away.
    “For weeks now,” he went on, “we haven’t spoken of what happened. But sooner or later—”
    She turned on him abruptly. “
No
!” she said fiercely. “No.” She paused a moment, mastering herself. “I want you to promise me something: never mention him or . . . Feversham . . . in my presence again.”
    Pendergast remained motionless, looking at her carefully. It appeared that his brother Diogenes’s seduction had affected her even more deeply than he realized. At last, he nodded again, faintly. “I promise.”
    Then, withdrawing his hands from hers, he kissed her on both cheeks. Taking hold of the reins, he swung up in the saddle, kicked his horse, passed through the outer gate, and set off down the winding trail.

4

    I N A BARREN CELL DEEP IN THE G SALRIG C HONGG MONASTERY , Constance Greene sat in the lotus position, her eyes closed, visualizing the exceedingly complex knotted silk cord that lay on a cushion in front of her. Tsering sat behind her in the dim light, her only awareness of him the low sound of his voice, murmuring in Tibetan. She had been studying the language intensively for nearly eight weeks and had developed a halting fluency, acquiring a modest vocabulary along with some phrases and idioms.
    “See the knot in your mind,” came the low, mesmerizing voice of her teacher.
    At will, the knot began to materialize, about four feet before her closed eyes, radiating light. That she was sitting on the bare, cold floor of a nitre-encrusted cell receded from her consciousness.
    “Make it clear. Make it steady.”
    The knot came into focus, sharply, wavering a little or going fuzzy when her attention wavered, but always returning to focus.
    “Your mind is a lake in twilight,” the teacher said. “Still, calm, and clear.”
    A strange sense of being there and yet not being there enveloped Constance. The knot she had chosen to visualize remained in front of her. It was one of medium complexity, tied over three hundred years ago by a great teacher. It was known by the name of the Double Rose.
    “Increase the image of the knot in your mind.”
    It was a difficult balance of effort and letting go. If she concentrated too hard on clarity and stability, the image began to break up and other thoughts intruded; if she let go too much, the image faded into the mists of her mind. There was a perfect balancing point; and gradually—very gradually—she found it.
    “Now gaze upon the image of the knot you have created in your mind. Observe it from all angles: from above, from the sides.”
    The softly glistening coils of silk remained steady in her mind’s eye, bringing her a quiet joy, a mindfulness, that she had never before experienced. And then the voice of her teacher disappeared entirely, and all that was left was the knot itself. Time vanished. Space vanished. Only the knot remained.
    “Untie the knot.”
    This was the most difficult part, requiring immense concentration—being able to trace the coils of the knot, and then mentally untie it.
    Time passed; it could