"Do you know a spell to heal it?"
"Not offhand. But I may be able to think of something. Tell me first what happened, though."
"You were hit by something. I think it might have come from one of those smoking sticks the men were pointing."
"Yes, it did. But what was the crashing noise? Did their ship explode?"
"No. It had larger--things--like those pointed by the men. These turned to follow us, then they began smoking and making the noise. Several things seemed to explode near us. Then it stopped."
Pol propped himself and looked back. It hurt to turn his head. The island was already receding in the distance, its outline vaguely misted. He looked down at the sea, up toward the sun.
Moonbird, are you all right?
Yes. And you?
I'll be okay. But we seem to be heading, northwest, rather than southwest. Maybe I'm wrong, though. You are the expert.
You are not wrong.
"Let me tie that in place for you."
"Go ahead."
Why? What is the matter?
The place you wish to visit next--it lies a great distance from here, many day's travel.
Yes, I know. That is why it is important that we follow the route I have laid out. Many island stopovers will be necessary.
Not really. Maps mean less to me than my feelings. I realized recently there is a shortcut.
How can that be? The shortest distance between two points is a--a great circle segment.
I will take us the way of the dragons.
The way of the dragons? What do you mean?
I have been that way before. Between some places there are special routes. Holes in the air, we call them. They move about, slowly. The closest one to a place near where you would go now lies in this direction.
Holes in the air? What are they like?
Uncomfortable. But I know the way.
Anything that is uncomfortable to a dragon might prove fatal to anyone else.
I have borne your father through them.
They are much faster?
Yes.
All right. Go ahead.
How far is it?
I may get us there by evening.
Is there a place before that where we can stop for repairs?
Several.
Good.
The sun hung low and red before them. To the right, a fuzzy line of coast darkened the horizon like a rough brush stroke. Mounds and streamers of pink and orange clouds filled the sky to the left and ahead. Moonbird was climbing and the wind seemed to grow colder with each beat of his wings. Pol stared upward and rubbed his eyes, for his vision had suddenly blurred.
The blur remained. He moved his head and it stayed in the same place.
Moonbird... ?
Yes, we are nearing it. It will be soon now.
Is there anything special that we should do?
Do not let go. Mind your possessions. I cannot help you if we become separated.
The wrinkle in the sky had grown larger as they climbed, reminding Pol of the invisibility shield viewed from the user's side. They reached its altitude and passed it. Looking down upon it, he saw it to be silvery, shining and opaque, like a pool of mercury, touched faintly pink by the receding sun. It achieved an even more substantial appearance as they rose higher above it.
Why have we passed it?
It must be entered from the bright side.
"We are going to dive through that?" Nora asked.
"Yes."
Pol touched the back of his neck and felt only a moderate ache. Already, the healing spell he had concocted seemed to be working--or at least killing the pain. Nora squeezed his shoulder.
"I'm ready."
He patted her hand as Moonbird achieved a position above the circle and began to slow.
"Hang on."
They began to drop. Moonbird's wings beat again, driving them faster.
It is not solid, Pol told himself without conviction, as the shining thing grew before them.
Suddenly, they were past it, and there was no up or down, only forward. Right and left would not stay put, for they seemed to be swirling, spiraling about a light-streaked vortex while a continuously rising scream pierced their ears. Pol bit his lip and clung tightly to Moonbird's neck. Nora was hugging him so hard that it hurt. He tried closing his eyes, but that worsened things, making his rising vertigo near to unbearable. There did seem to be a bit of brightness far, far ahead. His stomach wrenched, and whatever emerged was mercifully whipped away, Moonbird began expelling flames which fled back past them like glowing spears. The wailing had now reached at least partially into the ultrasonic. If he stared too long at the smears of light they seemed on the verge of becoming grotesque, open-mouthed faces. The one steady patch of brightness seemed no nearer.
Are all of the shortcuts like this? Pol asked.
No. We're lucky, Moonbird replied. There are some bad ones.
XVIII
Eyes aching, shoulders sore from the long flight, Mouseglove circled the tumbling stone structure, saw no sign of other visitors and was about to land nearby. His hands jerked, however, swinging the vessel out over the jungle until a cleared area came into sight. His sigh was voluntary as he brought the small ship down for a landing, but when he attempted to utter a choice from his amazing collection of curses, he discovered that his tongue would not respond.
You could at least let me rest, he mentally addressed his unseen manipulators. Whatever it is that you want of me, you will get a better performance if I am not exhausted.
We regret the inconvenience, came their first communication since his dream on Anvil Mountain, accompanied briefly by a peculiar doubling of vision, as if the scene about him were momentarily overlaid by the image of a flickering taper, a dark presence moving near it. But there is no choice, You overtook the other vessels during the night. We gave you a different course, and yours is a faster ship. But your lead is not that great. There is no time to rest. Take the wide, flat blade from the sheath on the door. Go outside. Cut branches, fronds. Conceal this vessel.
He felt free--free to comply. He did not.
But--
He was seized once again. He felt himself begin to rise, springing the hatch, taking the blade into his hand. There were no replies to his next inquiries.
The great-leaved plants were easy to cut. It did not take him long to cover the small ship. Then he opened a compartment toward the vessel's rear, to strip it, clean it and snap auxiliary fuel cubes into its chambers. The thought of this situation had troubled him during a more alert moment. There was no way the sunlight converters could do the entire job required for the return trip, even if his unwilling hands had not covered over their panels with leaves.
When he had finished the work he stood still for a moment, breathing the warm moist air, listening to the morning calls of the bright parrots, wondering whether he would now be permitted a brief rest. Almost as he thought it, however, his feet began to move, bearing him in what he believed to be the direction of the stone structure with the grotesque carvings. He swung the blade as he went, widening the trail. After only a few paces, he was drenched with perspiration. Insects buzzed about him, and the most maddening part of the entire experience was his inability to brush them away.
At last, he staggered into the cleared area where the stepped structure stood, stylized stone beasts projecting from its vine-covered walls, grinning past him.
I must rest, he tried. In the shade. Please!
There is absolutely no time, came the reply, with another flickering image. You must go around to the other side of the building and enter there.
He felt himself beginning to move again. He wanted to cry out, but this was still denied him. He moved faster and faster, barely aware of where he stepped, yet somehow he did not stumble.
He was halted again, before the weed-clogged, vine-hung doorway. Then the blade flashed forward and he began clearing it.
Soon he was through the opening and rushing along a corridor. His eyes had not yet adjusted to the gloom, but whatever was in charge of him seemed to know where he was going.