Magics - Riddle Of The Seven Realms Part 43

"Describe them to me."

Astron looked at the clocks' strikers reach back to their maximum extent. "There is no time," he said. "Something must-"

"What, time did you say, there is no time?" Camonel flung back his head and his laughter boomed out over the oasis. "Here there will be time eternal. Do you not see what is happening? Before there were two separate realms. Soon there will be but one. The laws have mixed so that there is nothing to distinguish one universe from another. Like two bubbles pressed together, the surface between them has dissolved away. They distort and strain, but inevitably merge into one. The single realm

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that results will obey the symmetries of both s.p.a.ce and time. With the next stroke of the gongs, these beings that call themselves rotators and reflectives will have their game continue forever, circling about a single oasis in pursuit of one another and playing the same move over and over and over. Yes, a beautiful symmetry that-"

"Tiny barbs and upon them smaller filaments still," Astron interrupted. "The surface of the pollen has a structure finer than that possible from the most skilled weaver. I have had no chance to study them further. But then, how can it matter? Although you might be satisfied, it does not help to answer-"

"Oh, but indeed it does." Camonel clasped his sides to control his laughter. His eyes defocused and took on a faraway look. "Barbs and filaments, you say. Yes, exactly what my calculations predicted. It is but a small reason why I am known as the one who reckons. That is why I sent you. Even without the answer, I had hoped that the pollen would still provide a piece to the puzzle."

"Then Prince Elezar," Astron said. "How does he fare?"

"Caspar has found his dark node and driven him from it. The spark of life s.h.i.+nes no longer in most of his followers. He is adrift, virtually alone, somewhere in the darkness of the realm, awaiting his end. I must have the pollen and the cataloguer quickly. It is the last hope that Caspar will not be victorious in the end.

"But enough. Now, human, before the strike of the last gong that locks this realm into an eternity of repet.i.tion, clasp the pollen tightly and enfold yourself in the arms of my agent."

"There are four of us altogether," Astron said.

"No, just you and the cataloguer," the voice rumbling from Camonel said. "Of the others there is no need."

Camonel stepped forward, stretching his wings out to full span. Astron looked at Nimbia and then at Kestrel still slas.h.i.+ng with a sword a half-dozen subnodes away. "Come." The djinn's voice boomed with authority. "Come, bring the pollen to Palodad's domain, and then we will speak of riddles and the precepts that lie beyond

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all others. The pollen and the cataloguer-both are essential. For no less will I continue to aid in your cause."

"No!" Phoebe's voice sounded above the demon's own. "You have stated that you have submitted. It is my commands that you must obey."

Camonel hesitated. Slowly he turned back to the wizard. "But there was no true struggle," he said slowly. "It was only because Palodad had instructed-"

"I command you to take us away," Phoebe said. "Away from here to safety for the four of us who do not belong."

"Not even a mighty djinn can find his way when the reality about him changes as he flies," Camonel said. "If we hesitate too long, I cannot be sure of even finding the lair of the one who reckons."

The clocks struck in synchrony with an ear-shattering peal. The ground began to weave and buckle, making it difficult for Astron to keep his balance. Off in the distance, he saw the sand rise in a huge wave that climbed halfway into the zenith. The sky above blinked in a kaleidoscope of rapidly changing colors.

"Away," Phoebe shouted. "To the first flame that you can find. I care not where."

Camonel grunted. "Dominance or submission," he muttered. "There can be no in between." Astron saw the mighty djinn pull Phoebe to him with one hand and then swoop to retrieve Nimbia with the other. Cradling them in his stout upper arms, he plucked Kestrel from the surrounding mfilee and then returned for Astron and the rucksack.

As the wings folded shut about him, Astron heard screams of dismay and pain, and then Abel's strong voice shouted above the rest. "We have broken the protocols and new ones come in their place. Look about you, reflectives, and see what you have done. Unwittingly, you have invoked the strongest, the ultimate of them all-coalescence follows from similarity. We are merged with the universe of the chronoids and now we are truly doomed."

With a crash of grinding reorientation the wave of sand hit the oasis. A chant of eat, sleep, cycle, eat,

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sleep, cycle began to ring in Astron's ears. He felt a wave of nausea far stronger than any that had gone before. Everything went blurry, and he seemed to be tumbling head over heel. The sweetness of the air suddenly lost its pleasure. His aches and pains dissolved away. In resignation, he succ.u.mbed to the protection of what was again his stembrain, only dimly aware of the closeness of Nimbia at his side.

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PART FIVE.

The Realm of the Aleators

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

A Little Bit of Luck

KESTREL looked at his outstretched hands and saw that they were his own. Evidently the last transformation in the realm of reticulates had restored him and Astron to their proper bodies. He shook his head to clear it of the last of the strange feelings. He had felt a robustness that had coursed through his veins with a pounding vigor. His basic needs for air, food, and sleep had been inherently satisfied and had not troubled his thoughts, even on the lowest level. The immortality of a demon's body he could well believe.

But to be facing an existence that stretched out forever with so little control over one's own thoughts! Kestrel frowned at the horror of it. It had been a constant struggle to keep from raising his sword stiffly over his head and plunging to certain death against any of a dozen reflective attacks. Eventually he would have succ.u.mbed. It was just too great an effort to remain on guard all the time-on guard against yourself and what your own thoughts might cause to happen.

Kestrel started to sit up and then hesitated as he became more aware of a gently rocking motion that pushed him from side to side. Looking about cautiously he saw that he was lying at the bottom of a concave wooden hull. Curved spars arched upward from under a keel-board under his back to gunwales well above his head. The last dying embers of a fire hissed in a smoky soup of bilgewater and soot. Below his feet he could see Phoebe's crumpled form and, beyond her, what probably were Nimbia and Astron stirring as well.

Kestrel looked skyward and groaned. The canopy

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was pale blue and lit by a small reddish sun, far smaller than what he was used to in the realm of men. Again they were somewhere else from where they wanted to be. For a moment, he lay on the rough wooden planking, trying to put his thoughts together. The strain of the last few moves had taken its toll on his mind, as well as on Astron's poorly equipped body. Having to think consciously of every thrust and parry, rather than rely on instincts learned over many years of getting out of sc.r.a.pes, was as exhausting as heavy labor.

Kestrel sighed. Yes, the effort had been exhausting, but somehow rewarding as well. If not for the gong of the clocks on the final move, the rotarians he led might have captured the node, despite the odds. They had depended on him and he had been true to their trust. He had risen to what was his duty and discharged it well. If not for the clocks, then who knew what could have happened? Perhaps there might be some way to go back, despite what the djinn had said, after Phoebe was safely home-go back and rescue those that had put their lives in his hands without questioning that he would respond in return.

"It is worse than the desert," Kestrel heard Phoebe say as she rose and came to his side. Her depressing lethargy seemed to have vanished. Even with the unsure footing of the small boat, there was confidence in her tread. "Look, Kestrel, there is nothing in sight. In the realm of reticulates, we arrived at an oasis where we could eat and drink." She looked at him intently and smiled. "It is worse than the desert and I do not care."

Kestrel looked out over the gunwale and blinked at what he saw. They were at sea with no sight of land on the horizon. Kestrel whirled to look in other directions, but there was little difference. The only feature was a thin line in the distance, separating ocean from sky.

He glanced down the length of the long boat, but, except for Nimbia and Astron, he saw that the hull was bare. They had no sails, oars, food, or water. Near his feet, the last ember of the dying fire cooled to a soggy gray. Evidently they did have at least one leak.

Kestrel put his arm around Phoebe and attempted a

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brave smile. She smiled back and drew closer. "At least, this part is better than the last few moves," she said. "You hardly touched me when we were separated from the

others."

Kestrel started to explain what had happened, but thought better of it. There would be time enough for that later, after they had reached safety. "How big a fire do you need to summon the djinn again?" he asked, waving at the charred splints at his feet. "Evidently in this place a blaze in a small wooden boat is not something totally bizarre."

"No, do not struggle with a demon now." Astron suddenly shook his head from where he was trying to stand near the stern. "Something is not right about the summoning. There is too much risk."

"What do you mean?" Phoebe said. "I have brought forth Camonel before and I can do it again. Do not worry, Astron. I have my full confidence now. Kestrel had faith in me and that was enough."

"I do not question the power in your craft," Astron said. "It is the words of the djinn that give me the suspicion. You have taught me, Kestrel, to look beyond the words to the meaning behind." The demon paused and wrinkled his nose. "How do we know that it was truly Palodad speaking through the mouth of Camonel? The one who reckons is a recluse, more concerned with the flipping of the imps in his own domain than delving into the working of other realms. He wants the harebell pollen grains as part of a bargain, it is true, but the insistence that I must accompany their delivery seems out of place."

"I do not know the workings of your kind." Kestrel shook his head. "So I cannot speak to how well your conjecture hits the mark. But if not this Palodad, then who else would speak through the flame?"