“Your other voice hides! Why?”
He stiffened. The creature had almost caught his thoughts, his “other voice.” “It has to hide before I can tell you a story. That… that is the way I am!”
The blot shrank again, evidently satisfied with the explanation. Gerrod felt as if he teetered on the edge of the proverbial precipice; his adversary was an unpredictable quantity. Any move, any wrong word, could spell the warlock’s end.
“Do you want to hear my story?”
“It might prove amusing! I like to be amused, you know! How does a story begin?”
Gerrod breathed a sigh of relief. “Sometimes they begin with words like ‘Once there was…’ or ‘Long ago… ‘. This one begins ‘There was a man named Dru Zeree… ‘.”
He went into the story, editing, as best he could under the circumstances, any mention of how the outsider Zeree had found himself here or how the sorcerer and his newfound companion had left this place. While he told the tale, Gerrod tried to mull over his own manner of escape. Vraad sorcery had not worked for Zeree. Might-he hesitated to even consider it-might the magic of the founders’ world work here? He was capable of it, Gerrod knew that much, but to finally give in to it…
His unnerving companion remained quiet throughout the story. The hooded Vraad put aside his other worries and concentrated again on the creature, for the tale was nearly complete. It was being entertained, that much was obvious. Would it follow through on his suggestion? Did it suspect what he had in mind and was simply playing with him?
“… and when the other I burst forth, he was a new creature, a wonderful, huge beast who called himself Darkhorse!” What would his father think of him, floating in limbo telling stories in order to preserve his life?
“I have a name! Do you want to know what it is?” The blot sounded so much like an anxious child that Gerrod almost laughed despite the danger to him.
“What is it?”
“I am Yereel!” The hole swelled to mammoth proportions. Gerrod waved his arms and legs back and forth, but he felt himself being drawn into the gaping mouth that was his unwanted companion.
“Y-Yereel! Stop! Please!”
Yereel shrank down to a tiny blot little bigger than the warlock’s hand. It-he seemed more appropriate now-giggled again. “I frightened you! Good! The taste stirs me as nothing else does!”
A decidedly different path of development than Zeree’s creature took, the Tezerenee thought again. How very unfortunate for me. He decided to make no comment about the creature’s-Yereel’s-choice of names. If the dweller was happy, it was to Gerrod’s advantage. In the meantime, the warlock had to press on. “Did you enjoy the tale?”
“Very much! Can I make one?”
“If you like. I have something better to entertain you with… and a way to prove yourself more clever than Darkhorse.”
Though it was impossible to read any emotion in a hole, Gerrod was certain Yereel was intrigued.
“What is this way?” the blot finally asked.
“Change yourself as he did.”
Hesitation… then, “I have never done such before.”
“Neither had Darkhorse.”
“I do not have this ‘horse’ to shape myself like.”
The Tezerenee allowed himself a quick smile, hoping such a facial movement was beyond the dweller’s comprehension. “That would only prove yourself as clever as him. If you want to prove yourself most clever, then you need a new form, one that Darkhorse did not do.”
Yereel almost whimpered. “I have no other form to copy! There is only you and I!”
Gerrod pretended to consider that problem. “Well, then you could shape yourself into something like me! Darkhorse never did that! That would prove you more clever!”
“Wonderful!”
“It might be too difficult for you, though…”
“Not so! Watch!”
Still the same tiny hole in the midst of nothing, Yereel began to turn in on himself. He continued to turn in on himself, never seeming to lose any more self. The warlock thought upon Dru Zeree’s description of the metamorphosis. There were similarities and differences in what Yereel attempted now, but all that mattered to Gerrod were the final results.
The change in the dweller’s appearance became more noticeable. Now, instead of a hole, he began to resemble a shell. Gerrod was not inclined to touch him and see if what he observed was true. During the course of their trek, Darkhorse had more than once absorbed adversaries like the Seekers, even though he had sported a more substantial form.
The shell toughened. Now was the time to test his theory. The hooded warlock leaned forward and asked, “How are you succeeding?”
From Yereel there was no response. “Can you answer me? Can you hear me?”
Still nothing.
Darkhorse had entered what Master Zeree had believed was the equivalent of a pupa stage in insects. He had literally readjusted his essence in order to exist more comfortably in the real world. That transformation had lasted a day or more, if Gerrod recalled. He had no idea how long Yereel’s would last, especially since time was not a known quantity in the Void, but he hoped it would prove sufficient for his purposes.
Gerrod exhaled. As simple as his triumph seemed now, it had taken a great deal out of him. Yereel was unpredictable; victory still might only prove to be a false dream if the dweller chose to burst free of his cocoon before the warlock was away.
“My spell brought me to this point. Vraad sorcery must work in this place!” Zeree had claimed it did not or, at the very least, did to no worthwhile effect. Despite those pessimistic thoughts, Gerrod was determined to attempt Vraad sorcery first.
He tried to pinpoint his destination. As it had been just prior to his accident, Darkhorse’s presence could be felt somewhere beyond the emptiness of the Void, but not strong enough that he could latch on to it. Worse yet, Yereel’s nearby form distracted him to the point where he finally gave up in disgust. Whether or not Vraad sorcery would work for him-and considering the link he had forged, he still believed it might-his current location made it impossible to be effective.
He could not return home. The shadow steed’s position had been his sole point of concentration. The founders’ world was lost to him-unless he attempted Sharissa’s way.
“You’re a fool, Gerrod!” Every breath he wasted meant that much more chance of still being here when the spherical shell floating before him hatched. He would have to give in, but only this once.
How had Sharissa described it? Relax and give himself over to the magic? There was supposed to be a spectrum or lines of force.
He saw neither, but he did feel a strange tingling in his body, as if some living force had permeated his entire form. A new wave of panic threatened to drown him, but he fought it off. This outworld magic would not twist him to its own interests! It was he who commanded!
Something briefly shimmered before his eyes. Not a spectrum. Not a field of lines crisscrossing into infinity. More like a path floating in the nothingness.
A path? Mention had been made of paths utilized by Darkhorse when he and the sorcerer had made their escape from the infernal nonplace. Reacting out of habit, he tried to snare it as he might a rabbit for food. Only when it proved impossible to find again did he think about what he was doing. Vraad methods did work with the sorcery of the founders’ world, but not without great effort and a high level of chance.
“All right, damn you! Take me! Only this once!”
He relaxed his body, if not his mind, and let the power flow into him. It was more than a tingle now; he itched, but from within.
Paths, the warlock thought. There are paths. I just have to open my will to them.