Thorinn leaped again, and at last came to the top of the chamber, where a row of wrapped bundles hung from a crosspole. Clinging to this, he cut a slit in the brown dome overhead. He capped the light-box and put it away, then thrust himself out into the breathing night again. Around him the topmost branches of the tree lifted themselves against a sky that seemed almost close enough to touch. Thorinn leaped to the nearest branch and began to climb. As he drifted upward, he could see that the topmost branches did indeed touch the sky, and some disappeared into it. Now the pure green was close overhead; squinting against it, he put up a hand and felt the moss cool and moist. He pulled off handfuls and stuffed them into his wallet. In the hole he had made he felt a matted fibrous substance like coarse-woven straw. He could force his fingers through it, but when he tried to pull a hank of it free, it resisted; it was all tangled together like the stalks of last season's grass. The branch trembled. He looked down and saw gray shapes leaping toward him; more were erupting from the dome below. He rose almost without thinking, gripped the sky with one hand, and swung himself out. He probed through the moss for another grip, swung again. A thrown stick went past him, struck the sky and spun silently into the void. He looked back. The demons had clustered at the end of a branch, which bending under their weight had left them ells short of the sky. Another stick slid into the moss with a tearing sound. Feeling light-headed, Thorinn plucked it out and threw it back. From a little distance, he looked back again. The demons were still clustered on the branch. He moved farther away, having an impulse to get clear of the tree: but could he survive a drop to the ground? While he hesitated, looking about him, he noticed a dark line in the sky not far ahead. He set out toward it; as he approached, the line expanded slowly to a narrow oval. When he was almost there, he turned and looked back again. Two demons were hanging under the sky, and as he watched, another leaped up. They came swinging toward him, and now he could see their eyes glinting under the green sky. He tried to move faster; his fingers slipped and he almost fell. In his mind, the sky blazed. His breath caught; he gaped with excitement. Here was the opening, a hole in the sky three spans wide. Hanging beside it, Thorinn plunged his free hand into his wallet, found the light-box and pushed the cap off with his thumb, made sure that it was the broken end, the lighted one. He drew it out and aimed the light-beam into the faces of the demons, saw their eyes clench and their bellies contract. Then he jammed the open end of the box into the sky. Brightness exploded around him. Blinking, dazzled, he looked down and saw the tree-tops green in daylight; a hurrying shadow flickered at the edge of vision and was gone. Shrieks echoed below the treetops. The demons hung from the sky, unable to move. Thorinn turned. The shaft was beside him, with a disk of brown metal at the top. He reached up, felt the shield rotate under his fingers. The opening came into view, an eye of darkness expanding until it filled the circle. Thorinn leaped up, blood drumming in his ears. He had just strength enough to pull himself through and roll aside in the darkness. The floor was as soft as goose down. He slept, and woke to drink from the magic jug, and slept again.
He woke, feverish, and plastered sky-moss over his wounds with hands that could barely hold it. He heard himself raving, and woke again listening for a voice that had just fallen silent. He fumbled for the light-box in his wallet. His hands were weak and sore, but he got the light-box out and managed to transfer a bit of moss from each compartment to the other.
He woke again knowing that he would live, and that he had passed into manhood by giving and receiving blows in battle.
There were two deep wounds in the back of his left hand, passing between the tendons and coming out at the palm. They were closed now, but the skin around them was angry for a finger's breadth. The wound in his other hand was shallower but more painful, a ragged tear slanting upward through the meat of his palm. There were puncture wounds in his chest, back, sides, and buttocks. The wound in his belly had closed; the skin all around it was red and hot to the touch. His eye was still swollen, but now he could see with it, and this, except for the nick on his leg that he had done himself, was all the tale of his wounds.