"How far is it?" I asked, anticipation quickening within me. "How many days?"

"Four, perhaps." The amir considered this for a moment. "Yes, four-if all goes well."

"And how many until we reach the mine?"

"Another day-the mountain trails are very bad."

As if to reach our destination the sooner, he pressed on with renewed vigour, driving a swifter pace. It was well after sundown when we finally stopped to make camp for the night, and I was so tired and preoccupied by the stabbing pains in my legs and thighs and back that I ate little of the stew Faysal prepared for our supper, and quickly retired in silent torment to nurse my aches.

Sleep proved elusive, however, and I lay weary and wakeful, regarding the stars in their long slow circling sweep of heaven's dome. Without the sun to inflame it, the air grew steadily cooler, and I pulled my cloak more tightly around me and listened to the soft chitter-chatter of the insects along the river course. Eventually, I grew drowsy and closed my eyes.

It seemed as if my eyelids had no more than touched one another when a voice spoke out of the darkness. "Rise, Aidan!" whispered the voice. "Follow me."

I woke and sat upright, and saw a figure dressed in white striding rapidly away. "Faysal!" I hissed aloud, not wishing to wake those sleeping around me. "Wait!"

He halted at the sound of my voice, but did not turn around. I struggled to my feet and, with limping steps, hurried after him. What was he doing, waking people in the dead of night?

I had taken no more than three or four paces when he moved on, leaving me to follow as best I could. "Faysal!" I called, trying to keep my voice down. "Wait!"

He led me a short distance along the riverbank to a place where the tamarisk grove thinned; here he stopped to wait. I hobbled as best I could over the rough rocky ground, forbearance rapidly turning to annoyance with every painful step. By the time I joined him, I was justly irritated at having been made to scramble after him in the dark.

"Well?" I demanded curtly. "What is so important you must drag me from my sleep?"

He gave no sign of having heard me, but continued gazing across the river. "Faysal," I said, more loudly, "what is wrong with you?"

At this he turned, and I found myself looking into the face of dear, dead Bishop Cadoc.

Cadoc glared at me from beneath lowered brows. "I am disappointed in you, Aidan," he said tartly. "Disappointed in the extreme-and disgusted."

His round face warped in a scowl, the good bishop clicked his tongue in sharp vexation. "Have you any notion of the trouble your disobedience is causing? The pit yawns before you, boy. Wake up!"

"Bishop Cadoc," I said, annoyance melting in the strangeness of the meeting, "how do you come to be here? I saw you killed."

"Yes, a very great gift that-and just look what you have done with it," he growled, his frown dour and disapproving. "Think you I could stand aside and watch you obliterate all that has been accomplished on your behalf from the moment you were born to now?" He glared indignantly. "Well? What have you to say for yourself?"

Unable to frame a suitable reply, I simply stared at the apparition before me. It was Bishop Cadoc, without any doubt whatever. Yet, though his features were the same, he exuded health and vitality beyond any I had known him to possess; sure, he seemed more alive than many living men, and the eyes that regarded me with such disapproval held nothing otherworldly about them, but were keen as double-edged blades. His simple monk's mantle was not white, as I supposed, but a softly glimmering material which gave a faint illumination to his face and hands-something more than moongleam, though similar-which made him appear to be standing in reflected light.

Curious, I reached out a hand to touch him-to see if his form was as solid as it appeared. "No!" He flicked up a warning hand. "Such is not permitted." Indicating a nearby rock, he said, "Now sit you down and listen to me."

Stubbornly, I stood. "I am no-"

"Sit!" he commanded, and I sat. Placing fists on his hips, the bishop of Cennanus na Rig glowered. "Your stiff-necked pride has brought the pilgrimage dangerously close to failure."

"Me!" I cried, leaping up. "I have done nothing!"

"Sit down and listen!" the bishop commanded sternly. "Night is soon over, and I must return."

"Where?"

Ignoring the question, he said, "Lay aside your damnable pride, brother. Humble yourself before God, repent, and beg forgiveness while there is yet time." He paused and his features softened. We might have been two monks talking by moonlight, a senior churchman chastising his wayward junior.

"Look at you! Wallowing in arrogance and self-pity, drowning in doubt-and all because of a trifling disappointment and small vexations of uncertainty. What do you know of anything?"

"God abandoned me," I muttered, "not the other way."

"Oh, yes," he said snidely, "your precious dream. It was a great boon you were given, but you threw it away. I see now you treat all your gifts the same: with nothing but contempt."

"Gift!" I said. "I was meant to die in Byzantium-what manner of gift is that?"

The apparition rolled its eyes in exasperation. "You were not always so dull-witted, God save you. Many a man-a perceptive man, mind-would give much to know where he will die."

I could not believe what I was hearing. I stared incredulously at the bishop's softly glowing form.

"Oh, a very great boon, that," I muttered scornfully. "I went to Byzantium believing I would die, but willing to face martyrdom for Christ's sake. Indeed, I was prepared for death, but nothing happened-nothing."

"And so you were disappointed," the bishop's apparition mocked, adopting the tone of one well used to exhorting thickheaded pupils. I made no answer, but glowered sullenly back. Cadoc frowned and drew a deep breath. "Perhaps, if you had pondered the meaning of your dream more deeply-"

"What difference does it make now? It is over and done."

"I tell you the truth, Aidan mac Cainnech," he declared in solemn displeasure, "you are making me angry."

I am mad, I thought. Here was I, arguing with a dead man's apparition in the middle of the night. I must be losing my mind-first angels and now the spirits of the departed. What next?

"This is what you came to tell me?" I inquired sourly.

"No, son," he said, his voice gentling. "I came to warn you, and to encourage you." He leaned towards me earnestly. "Beware: great danger gathers about you. Forces in high places seek your destruction. Continue on the way you are going, and the abyss will claim you."

"That is encouraging," I muttered.

"That was the warning," snapped the dead bishop. "But I say to you, rejoice, brother; the race is soon run, and the prize awaits. Persevere!"

So saying, he began to move away from me-I say "move away" because while he did not so much as lift a foot, I sensed motion and he began to fade from my sight, growing rapidly smaller as if retreating across a vast distance. "Remember this: all flesh is grass!" he called, his voice dwindling away. "Keep your eyes on the prize!"

"Wait!" I cried, jumping up again.

His words drifted back to me, now very faint and far away: "All flesh is grass, Brother Aidan. The race is soon run. Farewell…"

Cadoc disappeared from sight, and I came to myself with a shudder and looked around. The camp was quiet and still, the men asleep. Low in the west, the moon shone brightly, but pink dawn marbled the sky in the east. I stood for a time, trying to understand what had happened to me. It had been a dream, I decided. What else could it have been? Unlike my other dreams, however, this one had caused me to get up and walk in my sleep; I had never done that before.