There was a fresh wind blowing and the morning
was clear. Nick longed for binoculars. He had won his way this
much—with Stroud he was back on one of the ridges above the city.
They had traveled by night to reach this point, in spite of the
Warden’s reluctance.
But conditions around the cave had worsened. They were virtual
prisoners there as saucers clustered to prey upon the drifters. And
the still hazy plan Nick advanced, of trying to discover the secret
of safety in the rainbow towers, had won some support. Now he was
trying to line up enough cover on the plain ahead to give him a
chance to scout closer.
Grass grew there but he judged, and Stroud agreed, that tall as
that was, it provided no safe cover. And whether his own plan had
any chance at all Nick could not know. Only he could not stall here
much longer. Let a saucer home in on the city as Stroud said they
did at intervals and they might be pinned down here for hours.
“All right, shall I try it?” Nick got to his feet.
So much depended upon him now, upon his ability to use that wild
talent. He had practiced with it, but hardly enough—
“You do, or we go back,” Stroud returned. “We
came to do it.”
Did he believe that faced by a final choice Nick would back
down? Did he hope for that? If he did, his disbelief had just the
opposite effect: Nick was forced into action.
The Herald.
In his mind the American built up a picture of the Herald. Then
that was not in his mind at all. He had done it! He had actually
done it! Not captured the Herald physically as he had first thought
to do, but projected him—
“I got him!” Nick was exultant.
“So it looks,” Stroud agreed. “But can you
keep him?”
“I’ll have to. Here goes—”
Nick swung down the slope. The Herald was gone, winked out when
Nick no longer willed him. But when it counted he could produce
Avalon again—he had to. Stroud would remain behind, watch him into
the city. They had not been sure whether this illusion of the
accepted guide would hold for two, and since Nick’s was the
talent he went alone.
Now as he slipped and slid to more level ground he was excited,
tense as one is before any testing. In a way his self-confidence
had grown from that moment in the cave when he had been able to
prove that he was not a traitor to his kind and his power had not
been fostered by surrender to the People. Two days more he had
tested it, and the others with him.
The Vicar had some ability to project, oddly enough Mrs. Clapp
even more—though she tired easily. Crocker firmly refused to try.
His antagonism to Nick had increased, Nick was sure, instead of
diminished. The talent flared higher in the women—Linda, Jean
(though she showed the same reluctance as Crocker), Lady Diana,
could all produce some phenomena. Linda had formed a linkage with
the animals again and produced stronger and longer-abiding
illusions.
But all of them found it impossible to hold such for long. And
the more one struggled to do so, the more one’s energy was
exhausted. Nick was not sure now how long he could hold the Herald,
even if he could use that illusion for a key.
He did not believe that the People were active enemies of any of
the drifters. From Avalon’s words it would seem that when
refugees from Nick’s world refused alliance they were simply
ignored.
However, if he were able to break through the invisible defense,
enter the city, and be discovered there as an alien, would that
indifference hold? During the past two days Nick had prevailed on
the English to pool all their observations concerning the People
and the city, even though they had shied away from that before.
It was from the city, or cities (they had seen others), that the
Herald, or Heralds, issued. There were others of the People, such
as the Green Man of the forest—some of these lived in water, others
on the land—and these did not appear bound to the cities at all.
Yet all were native, Hadlett thought, to this world.
The Vicar drew, as he readily admitted, on the half-forgotten
lore of his own native country for his identification and
evaluation of those he had seen here. Perhaps his guesses were of
little value, but they were all he had to judge by.
In addition to those of the People who seemed neutral, there
were others who were definitely a dangerous threat. But these in
turn were bound to certain baneful portions of the land. And if one
avoided those sections, refused to be drawn by such lures as the
singing Nick had heard in the rain, they were no great menace.
Nick reached the level ground. He wished he could work his way
closer to the city before he produced the illusion. But he had ho
way of telling whether or not he was already under observation. He
concentrated with all the power he could summon.
Once more the Herald appeared. Nick did not try to make every
detail of the illusion sharply clear. It was enough that the
general appearance of his “guide” tallied with the real
one. With the thing born of his will ahead, he started at a swift
pace to the towers.
Stroud had pointed out where he might expect to meet the unseen
barrier, and he was doubly eager to reach that, to make his
entrance. Yet most of his attention must be on the phantom.
They were past the barrier point—though he could not be entirely
sure, because Stroud might have been mistaken. Nick refused any
triumph yet. The strain of keeping the Herald was beginning to
tell. What if he could not hold? Would he be a prisoner on the
inside of the barrier? Doggedly he fought his own weakness, holding
the necessary concentration. Then—The city—he was in the city!
The transition was quick, as if the buildings had risen about
him. Buildings—Nick forgot the Herald, his need for the
illusion.
There were buildings, yes, towering up and up, doors, windows,
streets. But where were the people? The streets were deserted, no
one walked the white-and-green blocked pavement, no vehicle moved
there. The doors were closed; the windows, if they were open, still
had the appearance of being shuttered. The walls about him had
glassy surfaces as if they were indeed crystal, backed by some
opaque material. And up and down them ran those opaline changes of
color, green, blue, yellow, red and all possible shadings
between.
Nick hesitated. There was no sound in the city. He could be in a
ruin deserted centuries ago. Yet this was no ruin, there was no
sign of erosion, nor breakage, cracking—
Slowly he approached the nearest wall. He held out a hand
hesitatingly so that just the tips of his fingers touched its
surface. Then he snatched it back again. For what he had fingered
was not cold stone or crystal, rather a substance delicately warm,
alive with vibration.
Energy, some form of energy was encased in the walls. That would
account for the radiance. The whole city might be a generator or
storehouse of energy.
The avenue on which he stood ran straight. If Nick did not turn
into any side way how could he be lost? Summoning his resolution
anew, Nick began to walk forward. But it was all he could do to
hold control.
For he knew, was as certain as he was of every breath he drew,
that the city, or those who dwelt here, knew him for what he was—an
interloper. Twice he came to a stop, turned to glance behind. But
no new wall had suddenly arisen, no guards were in view to cut off
his retreat. The street was as silent and deserted as ever.
Where were the people? Had the population shrunk so that only a
handful lived here at its heart? Or was the city really a city?
Perhaps those terms from his own world did not apply here. This
vast site might have some entirely different purpose. But the
Herald came from here, he had returned with those who accepted
Avalon. Nick had seen that happen.
He sighted ahead an open space with something standing within,
flashing a brighter light, so bright that it hurt Nick’s eyes
and he wished he had Linda’s dark glasses. To escape that he
moved closer to a wall, tried to look up. But the tower rose so
high it made him dizzy to attempt to see its tip against the
morning sky.
Now, a little daring, Nick set hand to the door in the wall.
This had a different texture than the wall. It seemed a single slab
of silvery metal. And at close inspection Nick could see it was
engraved with a pattern of many lines in intricate design. When
again he tried to touch it, there was no vibration, but as his
fingers moved along those lines he perceived a meaning sight alone
could not give them, and they were more visible than they had been
before.
There were queer beasts, some like the ones he had seen in the
woods, a unicorn among them, and creatures that were humanoid.
Around them, encircling them, were ribbon bands that bore marks
unlike any lettering Nick knew.
As his fingers passed he could see them plainly for a moment or
two. Then they faded so they were discernible only as faint
scratches.
Having tried one door he passed to the next and once more put it
to the test of touch. Again he saw pictures, though these were
different in both form and arrangement.
What lay behind these doors? Nick gently applied pressure. There
were no visible latches, locks, knobs, or any aid for their
opening. And they remained fixed, immobile, under all his
strength.
Locked doors, deserted city. Nick returned to the middle of the
street and forged ahead. Though the belief that
someone—something—was watching him held, Nick had regained a little
confidence. He sensed no threat in this place. If he had violated
some sanctuary then as yet those who guarded it had not made up
their minds whether he was a threat to their purposes or not. And
the longer they held off the more confident he felt. That in itself
might be a danger, he began to realize.
Nick advanced resolutely toward the flashing point ahead,
shading his eyes to its glare. So he came out into what might be
the heart of the city, though he had no way of knowing if that were
so. This was an open space into which fed five avenues, like the
one he followed. The shape he could see was that of a five-point
star, one street entering at each point.
Now that he was close to that which flashed, it did not glare as
much as earlier and he recognized its shape. For this he had seen
in his own world, and that it had a very ancient significance he
knew.
Set up straight in the middle of the star was a giant
representation of the Egyptian ankh—the looped cross. It appeared
to be fashioned, not of the crystal of the towers, but of a ruddy
metal. And in the mid-center of the two arms, on the arms
themselves, and around the loop were shining gems. But could those
be gems? Whoever heard of precious stones of such size they could
not be spanned by two hands together?
It was from these that the light flashed, green, blue, white—but
no red nor yellow. As those rays shot well over the level of his
head, Nick judged that the height of the ankh was equal to that of
a four- or five-story building.
From it came such a force of radiant energy that he felt dizzy,
weak. He staggered back. Was this the source of the safety devices
of the People? But what powered it? He saw no evidence of machines.
Or was it some receiver or booster broadcaster?
Nick wavered. For the first time, stark fear broke through his
wonder. This—this was overpowering. His skin tingled, his dizziness
grew. He must get away.
But could he? The avenue—Somehow he managed to turn, though the
gem lights nearly blinded him. There—get—out—
Nick broke into a stumbling run, heading for the opening to the
avenue. But it was as if he were trying to wade through deep mud.
Something sucked avidly at his strength, his very life-force. He
must get away!
He stumbled, fell, but somehow pulled himself to his hands and
knees and kept on at a crawl. The buildings rose on either hand, he
was within the avenue. But not far enough. And he was not going to
make it—
Nick gasped, fought for breath. Now it felt as if the air about
him was being sucked away, that he could not get enough into his
lungs—he was choking.
He lay flat, his arms outstretched above his head, his fingers
still moving feebly, trying to find some crevice between the blocks
of the pavement into which they might fit and draw him forward,
even if only for an inch or two.
“Come!”
Had he heard that? Nick still fought to move. There were hands
on his shoulders, he was being dragged away from the star, down the
avenue, out of the baleful influence of the ankh. He could not
summon strength enough to look up and see who—or what—had come to
his aid. Not the Herald—the Herald had been his own illusion.
Stroud? His thoughts were weak, slipping from him. He no longer
really cared who saved him.
The tingling in his flesh faded. But he was not regaining his
strength. However, the hold on him relaxed and he made a great
effort to roll over so he could see his rescuer.
She did not have that misty outline of light about her this time
but looked thoroughly solid and substantial. Nor were there tears
on her cheeks.
“Rita.”
He must have said her name aloud. Or else, like Jeremiah, she
could read his thoughts.
“I am Rita, yes.” There was in her speech that same
toneless quality that marked the Herald’s. But her face was not as expressionless as Avalon’s. There
was concern there, and something else. She studied him, Nick
thought, as one might study a tool before one put it to
service.
“You might have died—back there. You are not of the
Kin.” She made statements, she asked no questions.
“Are you alone here?” he asked.
“Alone?” Plainly that had startled her. She glanced
from left to right and back again, as if she saw what he could not
and was astounded by his speech. “Alone—why—” Then she
paused. “You are not of the Kin,” she repeated.
“The sight is not yours. No, though you do not see, I am not
alone. Why did you come if you would not be one with
Avalon?”
“To find out what keeps the city free from attack. Your
people—they are in danger. They need protection.”
“There is no danger for the Kin. Safety those others can
have for the asking. It is so. I have gone to them and they drove
me out. They are blind and will not accept sight, they are deaf and
they will not hear. They—” For the first time her voice
trembled. “They will be lost because they choose it
so.”
“They say that you changed.”
“Yes. I have become one with the Kin. See.” She went
to her knees beside him and laid her arm next to his, not quite
touching.
Her skin was white, a dazzling white, and very smooth, without
any fluff of hair along its surface. Against it his arm was coarse,
rough, browned. She took his hand in hers and the sensation of
flesh meeting flesh was not as he had known it before, but rather
as if fingers and palm of sleek marble had grasped him.
“Thus it is with the bodies of the Kin,” Rita told
him. “That is how we go protected against the weapons of the
flyers, and against other dangers here. There are evils that can
destroy us, but those are evils native to this world, and they
reach us in other ways than by wounds of the body. If your people
accept Avalon, then they shall become of Avalon, as I now
am.”
“You are—hard—” Nick could not find another word for
the feel of her flesh. “Yet—when you were in the woods—I saw
Linda’s hand pass through your arm.”
Rita did not answer him. Instead she said with the authority of
one who did not imagine she would be disobeyed:
“You have come where you cannot stay. If you accept not
Avalon, then that which is of Avalon can kill. You have felt the
beginning of that death. Get you out—this place is not for
you.”
She touched his forehead in much the same place as the fanatical
monk had pressed the cross so painfully into his skin. There was a
chill to her fingers. But from them flowed into him a renewal of
strength so he could stand again.
“You saved my life. Is there anything I can do for
you?” Always, Nick thought, he would remember those tears and
what lay in the eyes where that moisture gathered.
“What words can you use with them that I have not already
spoken?” Rita asked. “Their fear lies so deep in them
that they would kill before they will accept what I
offer.”
He expected her to stay, but, when unable to find words to deny
the truth of what she said, Nick started away, Rita matched step
with him.
“I will go out of the city. You need not
trouble—”
There was a trace of a smile on her face. “To see you to
the door?” she ended for him. “But there is a need. I
do not know how you entered, but you, being what you are, cannot
win free again save that the door be opened for you.”
Not all the strength drained from him had returned. Nick moved
slowly along the silent, empty street. But to his companion was it
either silent or empty? He believed not. That he could see her
might be because she was originally of his kind. Or maybe she
willed it so because she still felt a faint linkage with those
outside. She did not explain, in fact Rita did not speak again
until they reached the abrupt ending of the avenue, the beginning
of the grassy plain.
Then again came her question delivered with authority.
“How did you enter through the barrier?”
Nick wanted to dissemble and found he could not. With her eyes
upon him he must speak the truth.
“I followed a Herald.”
“That is—impossible. Yet, I see that it is also the truth.
But how can it be the truth?”
“The Herald was of my imagining. I pictured him into
life.”
He heard a hiss of breath that was a gasp. “But you are
not of the Kin! How could you do such a thing?”
“I learned how to save my life. And it was Avalon himself
who gave me the clue as to how it could be done. The others are
trying it too—”
“No!” That was a cry which carried a note of fear.
“They cannot! It means their destruction if they have not the
power of the Kin. They are children playing with a raw fury they do
not understand! They must be stopped!”
“Come and tell them so,” Nick returned.
“They will not listen—”
“Can you be sure? Having used this power I think that they
understand more than they did before. The Vicar, I am sure he will
listen.”
“Yes, he has a deepness of heart and a width of mind.
Perhaps this can be done. I cannot but try again. But they must not
attempt to weave the great spell. It can kill—or summon up that
which it is better not to see. Avalon has some life in it that can
answer one’s dreams in a way to freeze the very
spirit.”
Nick remembered the devilish things that had besieged the party
in the woods.
“So I have seen.”
Rita gave him a long measuring look and then held out her
hand.
“Let us go.”
As her cold, smooth fingers closed about his, Rita drew him
along. So linked they went out into the open, heading for the ridge
where he had left Stroud on watch. Would the Warden accept Rita?
Had the prejudice of the party been so shaken by Nick’s
discovery that they would listen to the one they had cast out? Nick
hoped so.
But he was not so sure when they did climb the ridge and Stroud
was not waiting. Nick found the flattened grass where the Warden
must have lain in hiding to watch him enter the city. But no one
was there.
“Stroud!” Nick called, but he dared not shout as he
wished.
An answer came in a croaking caw, as a bird burst up from the
grass, beating black wings to carry it skyward. Once aloft, it
circled them, still calling hoarsely.
“He has—he is in danger!” Rita watched the bird.
“The balance has been upset, the force thoughts have released
evil. You see—” she turned fiercely on Nick, her composure
broken. “You see what such meddling can do? The Dark Ones
hunt, run he ever so far or fast. And he, not understanding, will
lead them to the rest!”
“Lead who?”
“All those of the Dark who are not bound to any place of
evil. And all those they can command among the sons of men! You
played with the power, erecting no safeguards. And they who do so
open all doors, many of which give upon the Outer Dark. We must
hurry—!”
Rita gripped his wrist again, her grasp biting into the still
tender flesh so that Nick winced. But she did not note that as she
strode forward, dragging him on.
Instead of skulking under cover Rita made her way confidently
along the shortest route, heading for the cave. It would seem she
had no fears of this land. But Nick did not share her confidence.
However, when he tried to free himself from her hold, he found that
as impossible as if her fingers were a metal handcuff.
He came to a stop, jerking her to a halt.
“Tell me exactly what we may be facing, what Stroud may
have done, or what might have happened to him.”
“Do not delay us!” Deep in the eyes Rita turned upon
him was an alien glow. “He has fled—but you saw the Cor-raven
where he had been. That is the creature of the Dark. It was left to
warn us. It so declared this was not a matter for the
Kin.”
“Yet you are making it your matter,” Nick pointed
out.
“Yes, but that I cannot help. I am tied, heart-tied, and I
have not been long enough among the Kin that those ties are loosed.
Still do I care for those of my old heritage. I am free in Avalon,
free of choice. If I choose to go up against the Dark, then none
will step before me to say ‘no.’ For I choose, knowing
what may be the price. But we waste time. Come!”
That she planned to be an ally in whatever lay ahead, Nick had
no doubt now. And her urgency aroused his fear. He hoped that he
had recovered enough from his ordeal in the city to keep going, as
she began to run and he pounded with her, heading for the cave and
what might await them there.
There was a fresh wind blowing and the morning
was clear. Nick longed for binoculars. He had won his way this
much—with Stroud he was back on one of the ridges above the city.
They had traveled by night to reach this point, in spite of the
Warden’s reluctance.
But conditions around the cave had worsened. They were virtual
prisoners there as saucers clustered to prey upon the drifters. And
the still hazy plan Nick advanced, of trying to discover the secret
of safety in the rainbow towers, had won some support. Now he was
trying to line up enough cover on the plain ahead to give him a
chance to scout closer.
Grass grew there but he judged, and Stroud agreed, that tall as
that was, it provided no safe cover. And whether his own plan had
any chance at all Nick could not know. Only he could not stall here
much longer. Let a saucer home in on the city as Stroud said they
did at intervals and they might be pinned down here for hours.
“All right, shall I try it?” Nick got to his feet.
So much depended upon him now, upon his ability to use that wild
talent. He had practiced with it, but hardly enough—
“You do, or we go back,” Stroud returned. “We
came to do it.”
Did he believe that faced by a final choice Nick would back
down? Did he hope for that? If he did, his disbelief had just the
opposite effect: Nick was forced into action.
The Herald.
In his mind the American built up a picture of the Herald. Then
that was not in his mind at all. He had done it! He had actually
done it! Not captured the Herald physically as he had first thought
to do, but projected him—
“I got him!” Nick was exultant.
“So it looks,” Stroud agreed. “But can you
keep him?”
“I’ll have to. Here goes—”
Nick swung down the slope. The Herald was gone, winked out when
Nick no longer willed him. But when it counted he could produce
Avalon again—he had to. Stroud would remain behind, watch him into
the city. They had not been sure whether this illusion of the
accepted guide would hold for two, and since Nick’s was the
talent he went alone.
Now as he slipped and slid to more level ground he was excited,
tense as one is before any testing. In a way his self-confidence
had grown from that moment in the cave when he had been able to
prove that he was not a traitor to his kind and his power had not
been fostered by surrender to the People. Two days more he had
tested it, and the others with him.
The Vicar had some ability to project, oddly enough Mrs. Clapp
even more—though she tired easily. Crocker firmly refused to try.
His antagonism to Nick had increased, Nick was sure, instead of
diminished. The talent flared higher in the women—Linda, Jean
(though she showed the same reluctance as Crocker), Lady Diana,
could all produce some phenomena. Linda had formed a linkage with
the animals again and produced stronger and longer-abiding
illusions.
But all of them found it impossible to hold such for long. And
the more one struggled to do so, the more one’s energy was
exhausted. Nick was not sure now how long he could hold the Herald,
even if he could use that illusion for a key.
He did not believe that the People were active enemies of any of
the drifters. From Avalon’s words it would seem that when
refugees from Nick’s world refused alliance they were simply
ignored.
However, if he were able to break through the invisible defense,
enter the city, and be discovered there as an alien, would that
indifference hold? During the past two days Nick had prevailed on
the English to pool all their observations concerning the People
and the city, even though they had shied away from that before.
It was from the city, or cities (they had seen others), that the
Herald, or Heralds, issued. There were others of the People, such
as the Green Man of the forest—some of these lived in water, others
on the land—and these did not appear bound to the cities at all.
Yet all were native, Hadlett thought, to this world.
The Vicar drew, as he readily admitted, on the half-forgotten
lore of his own native country for his identification and
evaluation of those he had seen here. Perhaps his guesses were of
little value, but they were all he had to judge by.
In addition to those of the People who seemed neutral, there
were others who were definitely a dangerous threat. But these in
turn were bound to certain baneful portions of the land. And if one
avoided those sections, refused to be drawn by such lures as the
singing Nick had heard in the rain, they were no great menace.
Nick reached the level ground. He wished he could work his way
closer to the city before he produced the illusion. But he had ho
way of telling whether or not he was already under observation. He
concentrated with all the power he could summon.
Once more the Herald appeared. Nick did not try to make every
detail of the illusion sharply clear. It was enough that the
general appearance of his “guide” tallied with the real
one. With the thing born of his will ahead, he started at a swift
pace to the towers.
Stroud had pointed out where he might expect to meet the unseen
barrier, and he was doubly eager to reach that, to make his
entrance. Yet most of his attention must be on the phantom.
They were past the barrier point—though he could not be entirely
sure, because Stroud might have been mistaken. Nick refused any
triumph yet. The strain of keeping the Herald was beginning to
tell. What if he could not hold? Would he be a prisoner on the
inside of the barrier? Doggedly he fought his own weakness, holding
the necessary concentration. Then—The city—he was in the city!
The transition was quick, as if the buildings had risen about
him. Buildings—Nick forgot the Herald, his need for the
illusion.
There were buildings, yes, towering up and up, doors, windows,
streets. But where were the people? The streets were deserted, no
one walked the white-and-green blocked pavement, no vehicle moved
there. The doors were closed; the windows, if they were open, still
had the appearance of being shuttered. The walls about him had
glassy surfaces as if they were indeed crystal, backed by some
opaque material. And up and down them ran those opaline changes of
color, green, blue, yellow, red and all possible shadings
between.
Nick hesitated. There was no sound in the city. He could be in a
ruin deserted centuries ago. Yet this was no ruin, there was no
sign of erosion, nor breakage, cracking—
Slowly he approached the nearest wall. He held out a hand
hesitatingly so that just the tips of his fingers touched its
surface. Then he snatched it back again. For what he had fingered
was not cold stone or crystal, rather a substance delicately warm,
alive with vibration.
Energy, some form of energy was encased in the walls. That would
account for the radiance. The whole city might be a generator or
storehouse of energy.
The avenue on which he stood ran straight. If Nick did not turn
into any side way how could he be lost? Summoning his resolution
anew, Nick began to walk forward. But it was all he could do to
hold control.
For he knew, was as certain as he was of every breath he drew,
that the city, or those who dwelt here, knew him for what he was—an
interloper. Twice he came to a stop, turned to glance behind. But
no new wall had suddenly arisen, no guards were in view to cut off
his retreat. The street was as silent and deserted as ever.
Where were the people? Had the population shrunk so that only a
handful lived here at its heart? Or was the city really a city?
Perhaps those terms from his own world did not apply here. This
vast site might have some entirely different purpose. But the
Herald came from here, he had returned with those who accepted
Avalon. Nick had seen that happen.
He sighted ahead an open space with something standing within,
flashing a brighter light, so bright that it hurt Nick’s eyes
and he wished he had Linda’s dark glasses. To escape that he
moved closer to a wall, tried to look up. But the tower rose so
high it made him dizzy to attempt to see its tip against the
morning sky.
Now, a little daring, Nick set hand to the door in the wall.
This had a different texture than the wall. It seemed a single slab
of silvery metal. And at close inspection Nick could see it was
engraved with a pattern of many lines in intricate design. When
again he tried to touch it, there was no vibration, but as his
fingers moved along those lines he perceived a meaning sight alone
could not give them, and they were more visible than they had been
before.
There were queer beasts, some like the ones he had seen in the
woods, a unicorn among them, and creatures that were humanoid.
Around them, encircling them, were ribbon bands that bore marks
unlike any lettering Nick knew.
As his fingers passed he could see them plainly for a moment or
two. Then they faded so they were discernible only as faint
scratches.
Having tried one door he passed to the next and once more put it
to the test of touch. Again he saw pictures, though these were
different in both form and arrangement.
What lay behind these doors? Nick gently applied pressure. There
were no visible latches, locks, knobs, or any aid for their
opening. And they remained fixed, immobile, under all his
strength.
Locked doors, deserted city. Nick returned to the middle of the
street and forged ahead. Though the belief that
someone—something—was watching him held, Nick had regained a little
confidence. He sensed no threat in this place. If he had violated
some sanctuary then as yet those who guarded it had not made up
their minds whether he was a threat to their purposes or not. And
the longer they held off the more confident he felt. That in itself
might be a danger, he began to realize.
Nick advanced resolutely toward the flashing point ahead,
shading his eyes to its glare. So he came out into what might be
the heart of the city, though he had no way of knowing if that were
so. This was an open space into which fed five avenues, like the
one he followed. The shape he could see was that of a five-point
star, one street entering at each point.
Now that he was close to that which flashed, it did not glare as
much as earlier and he recognized its shape. For this he had seen
in his own world, and that it had a very ancient significance he
knew.
Set up straight in the middle of the star was a giant
representation of the Egyptian ankh—the looped cross. It appeared
to be fashioned, not of the crystal of the towers, but of a ruddy
metal. And in the mid-center of the two arms, on the arms
themselves, and around the loop were shining gems. But could those
be gems? Whoever heard of precious stones of such size they could
not be spanned by two hands together?
It was from these that the light flashed, green, blue, white—but
no red nor yellow. As those rays shot well over the level of his
head, Nick judged that the height of the ankh was equal to that of
a four- or five-story building.
From it came such a force of radiant energy that he felt dizzy,
weak. He staggered back. Was this the source of the safety devices
of the People? But what powered it? He saw no evidence of machines.
Or was it some receiver or booster broadcaster?
Nick wavered. For the first time, stark fear broke through his
wonder. This—this was overpowering. His skin tingled, his dizziness
grew. He must get away.
But could he? The avenue—Somehow he managed to turn, though the
gem lights nearly blinded him. There—get—out—
Nick broke into a stumbling run, heading for the opening to the
avenue. But it was as if he were trying to wade through deep mud.
Something sucked avidly at his strength, his very life-force. He
must get away!
He stumbled, fell, but somehow pulled himself to his hands and
knees and kept on at a crawl. The buildings rose on either hand, he
was within the avenue. But not far enough. And he was not going to
make it—
Nick gasped, fought for breath. Now it felt as if the air about
him was being sucked away, that he could not get enough into his
lungs—he was choking.
He lay flat, his arms outstretched above his head, his fingers
still moving feebly, trying to find some crevice between the blocks
of the pavement into which they might fit and draw him forward,
even if only for an inch or two.
“Come!”
Had he heard that? Nick still fought to move. There were hands
on his shoulders, he was being dragged away from the star, down the
avenue, out of the baleful influence of the ankh. He could not
summon strength enough to look up and see who—or what—had come to
his aid. Not the Herald—the Herald had been his own illusion.
Stroud? His thoughts were weak, slipping from him. He no longer
really cared who saved him.
The tingling in his flesh faded. But he was not regaining his
strength. However, the hold on him relaxed and he made a great
effort to roll over so he could see his rescuer.
She did not have that misty outline of light about her this time
but looked thoroughly solid and substantial. Nor were there tears
on her cheeks.
“Rita.”
He must have said her name aloud. Or else, like Jeremiah, she
could read his thoughts.
“I am Rita, yes.” There was in her speech that same
toneless quality that marked the Herald’s. But her face was not as expressionless as Avalon’s. There
was concern there, and something else. She studied him, Nick
thought, as one might study a tool before one put it to
service.
“You might have died—back there. You are not of the
Kin.” She made statements, she asked no questions.
“Are you alone here?” he asked.
“Alone?” Plainly that had startled her. She glanced
from left to right and back again, as if she saw what he could not
and was astounded by his speech. “Alone—why—” Then she
paused. “You are not of the Kin,” she repeated.
“The sight is not yours. No, though you do not see, I am not
alone. Why did you come if you would not be one with
Avalon?”
“To find out what keeps the city free from attack. Your
people—they are in danger. They need protection.”
“There is no danger for the Kin. Safety those others can
have for the asking. It is so. I have gone to them and they drove
me out. They are blind and will not accept sight, they are deaf and
they will not hear. They—” For the first time her voice
trembled. “They will be lost because they choose it
so.”
“They say that you changed.”
“Yes. I have become one with the Kin. See.” She went
to her knees beside him and laid her arm next to his, not quite
touching.
Her skin was white, a dazzling white, and very smooth, without
any fluff of hair along its surface. Against it his arm was coarse,
rough, browned. She took his hand in hers and the sensation of
flesh meeting flesh was not as he had known it before, but rather
as if fingers and palm of sleek marble had grasped him.
“Thus it is with the bodies of the Kin,” Rita told
him. “That is how we go protected against the weapons of the
flyers, and against other dangers here. There are evils that can
destroy us, but those are evils native to this world, and they
reach us in other ways than by wounds of the body. If your people
accept Avalon, then they shall become of Avalon, as I now
am.”
“You are—hard—” Nick could not find another word for
the feel of her flesh. “Yet—when you were in the woods—I saw
Linda’s hand pass through your arm.”
Rita did not answer him. Instead she said with the authority of
one who did not imagine she would be disobeyed:
“You have come where you cannot stay. If you accept not
Avalon, then that which is of Avalon can kill. You have felt the
beginning of that death. Get you out—this place is not for
you.”
She touched his forehead in much the same place as the fanatical
monk had pressed the cross so painfully into his skin. There was a
chill to her fingers. But from them flowed into him a renewal of
strength so he could stand again.
“You saved my life. Is there anything I can do for
you?” Always, Nick thought, he would remember those tears and
what lay in the eyes where that moisture gathered.
“What words can you use with them that I have not already
spoken?” Rita asked. “Their fear lies so deep in them
that they would kill before they will accept what I
offer.”
He expected her to stay, but, when unable to find words to deny
the truth of what she said, Nick started away, Rita matched step
with him.
“I will go out of the city. You need not
trouble—”
There was a trace of a smile on her face. “To see you to
the door?” she ended for him. “But there is a need. I
do not know how you entered, but you, being what you are, cannot
win free again save that the door be opened for you.”
Not all the strength drained from him had returned. Nick moved
slowly along the silent, empty street. But to his companion was it
either silent or empty? He believed not. That he could see her
might be because she was originally of his kind. Or maybe she
willed it so because she still felt a faint linkage with those
outside. She did not explain, in fact Rita did not speak again
until they reached the abrupt ending of the avenue, the beginning
of the grassy plain.
Then again came her question delivered with authority.
“How did you enter through the barrier?”
Nick wanted to dissemble and found he could not. With her eyes
upon him he must speak the truth.
“I followed a Herald.”
“That is—impossible. Yet, I see that it is also the truth.
But how can it be the truth?”
“The Herald was of my imagining. I pictured him into
life.”
He heard a hiss of breath that was a gasp. “But you are
not of the Kin! How could you do such a thing?”
“I learned how to save my life. And it was Avalon himself
who gave me the clue as to how it could be done. The others are
trying it too—”
“No!” That was a cry which carried a note of fear.
“They cannot! It means their destruction if they have not the
power of the Kin. They are children playing with a raw fury they do
not understand! They must be stopped!”
“Come and tell them so,” Nick returned.
“They will not listen—”
“Can you be sure? Having used this power I think that they
understand more than they did before. The Vicar, I am sure he will
listen.”
“Yes, he has a deepness of heart and a width of mind.
Perhaps this can be done. I cannot but try again. But they must not
attempt to weave the great spell. It can kill—or summon up that
which it is better not to see. Avalon has some life in it that can
answer one’s dreams in a way to freeze the very
spirit.”
Nick remembered the devilish things that had besieged the party
in the woods.
“So I have seen.”
Rita gave him a long measuring look and then held out her
hand.
“Let us go.”
As her cold, smooth fingers closed about his, Rita drew him
along. So linked they went out into the open, heading for the ridge
where he had left Stroud on watch. Would the Warden accept Rita?
Had the prejudice of the party been so shaken by Nick’s
discovery that they would listen to the one they had cast out? Nick
hoped so.
But he was not so sure when they did climb the ridge and Stroud
was not waiting. Nick found the flattened grass where the Warden
must have lain in hiding to watch him enter the city. But no one
was there.
“Stroud!” Nick called, but he dared not shout as he
wished.
An answer came in a croaking caw, as a bird burst up from the
grass, beating black wings to carry it skyward. Once aloft, it
circled them, still calling hoarsely.
“He has—he is in danger!” Rita watched the bird.
“The balance has been upset, the force thoughts have released
evil. You see—” she turned fiercely on Nick, her composure
broken. “You see what such meddling can do? The Dark Ones
hunt, run he ever so far or fast. And he, not understanding, will
lead them to the rest!”
“Lead who?”
“All those of the Dark who are not bound to any place of
evil. And all those they can command among the sons of men! You
played with the power, erecting no safeguards. And they who do so
open all doors, many of which give upon the Outer Dark. We must
hurry—!”
Rita gripped his wrist again, her grasp biting into the still
tender flesh so that Nick winced. But she did not note that as she
strode forward, dragging him on.
Instead of skulking under cover Rita made her way confidently
along the shortest route, heading for the cave. It would seem she
had no fears of this land. But Nick did not share her confidence.
However, when he tried to free himself from her hold, he found that
as impossible as if her fingers were a metal handcuff.
He came to a stop, jerking her to a halt.
“Tell me exactly what we may be facing, what Stroud may
have done, or what might have happened to him.”
“Do not delay us!” Deep in the eyes Rita turned upon
him was an alien glow. “He has fled—but you saw the Cor-raven
where he had been. That is the creature of the Dark. It was left to
warn us. It so declared this was not a matter for the
Kin.”
“Yet you are making it your matter,” Nick pointed
out.
“Yes, but that I cannot help. I am tied, heart-tied, and I
have not been long enough among the Kin that those ties are loosed.
Still do I care for those of my old heritage. I am free in Avalon,
free of choice. If I choose to go up against the Dark, then none
will step before me to say ‘no.’ For I choose, knowing
what may be the price. But we waste time. Come!”
That she planned to be an ally in whatever lay ahead, Nick had
no doubt now. And her urgency aroused his fear. He hoped that he
had recovered enough from his ordeal in the city to keep going, as
she began to run and he pounded with her, heading for the cave and
what might await them there.