“Yes, I have,” the bruin said. “I wouldn't want to leave you here to starve — or to get lost in the jewels and eventually go mad. One does not permit such an end for his friends. If I must leave you behind, I'll kill you and get your suffering over with quickly. Otherwise my conscience would always bother me.”
Jask shifted his gaze from the rifle barrel to the deep-set, dark eyes under the shelf of the mutant's brow, and he read the truth in those eyes. Painfully he got to his feet, picked up his cloak and said, morosely, “Lead the way.”
Tedesco led the way.
Jask wondered if Lady Nature might not exert at least a little influence in this place — for he could not imagine who else would have such a reason or power to make him suffer.
For more than an hour they climbed the steep corridors, bathed in ethereal flames that were not hot, cooled by green trees that were only illusions without real substance or shadow, crisped orange here, iced blue there. They crossed silver-black chambers where the ceilings were cathedral and the mood was sinister, and they wriggled on their bellies — Tedesco pushing his huge rucksack ahead — down brown and purple corridors barely high enough for them to squeeze through. Cresting up-sloped hallways, they found themselves stumbling down tilted floors while kaleidoscopes crackled into new forms and hues beneath their feet. They tripped and fell, often, but they got up again and went on, holding to the bright walls for support, sweat-dampened fingers slipping from handholds that had seemed safe, grasping uselessly at jeweled projections that might help to break their falls. They came to chasms that separated one arm of the tunnel from the next, looked down into meters and meters of fire, into hellish pits where animals made of light danced in maniacal glee to entertain them, puffing out of existence as new species of animals, new colors, flickered into “life” for a brief moment and were gone in their turn. Sometimes they climbed down these jagged chasms and crossed the unpolished floors where faults lay like traps, concealed by the interplay of color. Once crossed, they climbed the other side and went rapidly forward to meet the next such obstacle — not because they enjoyed the challenge, but because each one put behind them meant one less to face ahead. Other times, if the walls of the gorge were too steep to permit descent, they used ropes and hooks to construct a fragile bridge from the lip of one precipice to the other. But always they went on: Tedesco because he had to; Jask because he was afraid to stop and be shot.
Finally, after nearly two hours of this torturous routine, Jask had endured enough punishment. Weakness rose through him like dirty floodwater over the banks of a creek. He swayed as they were weaving down a steep ruby incline, lost sight of the bright walls as the perfect darkness of unconsciousness roared over him. He fell, hard, and rolled until he came up against a green-and-gold-speckled outcrop. He lay there, unmoving, as Tedesco continued to the bottom of the run, unaware of his companion's predicament.
A few minutes later, however, the bruin realized that he was alone. When he called Jask's name and received no reply, and when a telepathic probe brought him only muddled, unclear thoughts from the other man, he went back, climbed the corridor he had just come down and located Jask's body.
He knelt, fighting to maintain balance on that slippery floor, and checked the smaller man's pulse. It was faint but adequate, and fortunately not irregular. He tried slapping the unconscious man to wake him, shouted his name, and even poured a few drops of precious drinking water on Jask's face, all to no avail.
For a short moment he considered taking one of his power rifles and putting an end to the small man's troubles. If Jask were not only unconscious but comatose, there was little else he could do for him. Yet there was always the chance that Jask might revive and be able to go on…
Sighing, Tedesco took off his rucksack and let it slide, along with the rifles, to the bottom of the incline. Lifting Jask as if the man weighed as little as the lights that flickered in the walls, he carried him to the bottom of the corridor. Thereafter, for a grueling hour or more, he lugged Jask for several hundred yards at a time, put him gently down, went back to fetch supplies, alternating the two loads until he had brought everything out of the jewel formation and into the center of another precious pocket of open air, where two small pine trees fought for existence and where the grass, though a sickly yellow-brown, was at least soft and cool.
He lay Jask on the soiled cloak and wrapped the garment around him so that he would not catch a chill in the brisk evening air that wafted down from above.
He permitted himself a small drink from the wooden flask, rolled the water over his tongue as if he were savoring wine, swallowed, and carefully stoppered the container.
He looked at the pale-faced man in the cloak and wondered why he was going to so much trouble for him. He could as easily have turned the power rifle on him and eliminated the Jask Zinn problem altogether. Yet, even as he wondered about his motivations, he knew what they were. Despite his years of self-reliance, his ability to go it alone no matter what the situation, he now felt that he needed someone to face the Wildlands beside him — even if that someone were a worthless, skinny Pure. He had left his entire life behind him, his possessions and his future. What lay ahead was frightening: either sudden death or the stars. He did not want to go at either thing by himself. It was a weakness he despised the moment he recognized it, and he turned away from Jask.
He looked at the rapidly darkening sky where it was visible at the top of the encircling jewel walls, then lay back, his entire body shaking with fatigue, and went instantly to sleep.
When Tedesco woke seven hours later, dawn was still a long way off. The sky, directly overhead, was black, while the walls on both sides exploded with countless lights.
He sat up, turned to Jask Zinn, and found the small man watching him. “How long have you been awake?”
“Not long,” Jask croaked. He looked thinner and paler than ever.
“Hungry?”
Jask said, “No.”
“You've got to eat.”
“Later.”
Tedesco saw that he was shivering badly. When he put the leathery palm of his black hand against Jask's forehead, he found that his companion had a fever. He said, “I'll get you some water.”
Jask nodded.
Tedesco poured an inch of water into a wooden cup, raised Jask's head with one hand and tilted the cup to the parched lips.
Jask sucked weakly at the water, blinking with each swallow as if it pained him.
“Good?”
Jask nodded, tried to smile.
' 'Take some more,'' Tedesco urged, pouring another inch of water into the cup and offering it.
“Thanks.”
Jask's voice was as soft as a whisper, all but inaudible.
“Don't mention it.”
Jask began to swallow a bit more greedily than he had at first, but he suddenly choked as he took too much in at once and spat water over Tedesco's hand.
“Easy now!” the bruin said. He took the cup away from his companion's lips, held his head a little higher, and waited for the choking to stop.
It did not stop.
In a moment, as Jask's eyes rolled smoothly back into his head, the mutant realized that these were nothing so simple as choking noises, but convulsions. Jask was trying to swallow his tongue.
“Jask!”
The small man, frail as he was, rose up onto his head and heels until he was arched like a human bow. Blood trickled in a thin stream from the corner of his mouth, so dark it looked black and not red. He had already bitten into his tongue.
“No!” Tedesco shouted.
He grabbed Jask's head, levered his mouth wide open, and, sticking a single, fat finger between Jask's teeth, pressed down on the man's tongue and kept him from swallowing it and smothering himself.