The Hound of Rowan Read Free

something deep within him.
    That something had been with Max ever since he could remember. It was a lurking presence, huge and wild, and Max was afraid of it. Throughout his life he had fought with great difficulty to keep it walled within him The struggles caused headaches, including unbearable stretches that lasted for days. Max knew those days were over as he felt the presence burst free. Unfettered at last, it glided slowly through his consciousness before sounding deep within his being to stir the silt.
    The pain subsided. Max took a deep breath while tears ran free in warm little rivers down his face. He brushed the tapestry’s woven surface with his fingers.
    The light and colors shifted to form golden, interlacing patterns that framed three strange, glowing words near the top.
    TÁIN BÓ CUAILNGE
    Centered below these words was the beautifully woven image of a bull in a pasture surrounded by dozens of sleeping warriors. A host of armed men were approaching from the right; a trio of black birds wheeled in the sky above. Overlooking the scene from a nearby hill was the silhouette of a tall man clutching a spear.
    Max’s eyes swept over the picture, but they always returned to the dark figure on the hill. Slowly, the tapestry’s light grew brighter; its images trembled and danced behind shimmering waves of heat. With a rising cacophony of sound, the tapestry erupted with radiance so hot and bright Max feared it would consume him.
    â€œMax! Max McDaniels!”
    The room was dark once again. The tapestry hung against the wall, dull and ugly and still. Max backed away, confused and frightened, and crossed the velvet rope into the medieval gallery.
    He saw his father’s hulking figure alongside two security guards at the far end of the gallery. Max called out. At the sound of Max’s voice, Mr. McDaniels raced toward his son.
    â€œOh, thank God! Thank God!” Mr. McDaniels wiped away tears as he stooped to smother Max in the folds of his coat. “Max, where on
earth
have you been? I’ve been looking for you for the last two hours!”
    â€œDad, I’m sorry,” Max said, baffled. “I’m okay. I was just in that other room, but I haven’t been gone more than twenty minutes.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about? What other room?” Mr. McDaniels’s voice quavered as he peered over Max’s shoulder.
    â€œThe one that’s under repair,” replied Max, turning to point out the sign. He stopped, began to speak, and stopped again. There was no doorway, no sign, and no velvet rope.
    Mr. McDaniels turned to the two guards, offering each a firm handshake. As the guards moved beyond earshot, Mr. McDaniels kneeled to Max’s height. His eyes were puffed and searching.
    â€œMax, be honest with me. Where have you been for the last two hours?”
    Max took a deep breath. “I was in a room off this gallery. Dad, I swear to you I didn’t think I was in there very long.”
    â€œWhere was this room?” asked Mr. McDaniels as he unfolded the museum map.
    Max felt sick.
    The room with the tapestry was simply not on the map.
    â€œMax…I’m going to ask you this one time and one time only. Are you lying to me?”
    Max stared hard at his shoes. Raising his eyes to his father’s, he heard his own voice, soft and trembling.
    â€œNo, Dad. I’m not lying to you.”
    Before Max had finished the sentence, his father was pulling him briskly toward the exit. Several girls his age giggled and whispered as Max was dragged, feet shuffling and head bowed, out the museum entrance and down the steps.
    The only sounds during the cab ride to the train station came from Mr. McDaniels thumbing rapidly through his pamphlets. Max noticed some were upside down or backward. The rain and wind were picking up again as the cab slowed to a halt near the train station.
    â€œMake sure you’ve got your things,” sighed Mr. McDaniels, exiting