Part 58 (1/2)

Astron started to wrinkle his nose, but he realized he did not have the time. Reaching the anvilwood barrier, he began hewing with the sword as if it were an axe, sending splinters flying. He managed to dislodge two large logs. Abandoning his blade, he lifted them in the circle of his arms. Staggering with the load, he weaved his way back to the fire which Phoebe had fanned into a respectable blaze, despite the growing wetness of the air.

The tiers of the casino had become completely hidden in the dense black fog, and only hints of the ma.s.sive support pillars were outlined where the high ceiling should be. The illuminating spheres of fungi had been reduced to dull glows. Only the fire pushed back the darkness of the encroaching gloom. It looked as if they were on an island in a fogbound sea.

Astron tossed the logs onto the fire and prepared to step into it himself, but then hesitated. ”There is insufficient time.” He shook his head. ”You all will be gone before I can return.”

”Then transport us to another realm,” Phoebe said. ”Like a mighty djinn, you must somehow carry us through.”

”There certainly is no time for that, even if I were able,” Astron said. ”Piercing through one barrier to the realm of daemon is hard enough, let alone two.”

”You must think of something, Astron.” Nimbia touched his arm. ”Look! At the very edge of the mists, I see Byron wrenching free his blade.”

Astron looked at the inviting lick of the flame. The color and smell beckoned him with an almost irresistible allure. He could easily step into the warm, enfolding embrace and vanish from the peril. He watched the shrinking horizon of visibility and felt his stembrain stir in panic.

He reached out and felt the softness of Nimbia's hand still on his arm. Memories of the pa.s.sion he had felt in Kestrel's body returned with a surprising sharpness. He

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looked into her eyes and saw the confidence in his abilities that she seemed to radiate back to him.

”I will try as would my clutch brethren,” he said softly as he walked into the flame. ”The arc will be small, so you will have to squeeze as much as you can.”

”Where will you take us?” Nimbia asked.

”If I am successful, just into the realm of daemon,” Astron said. ”To the darkness of my own den. Perhaps none will be waiting for us there.”

He paused and studied the expression on her face. ”It will be quite strange, but perhaps, after what you all have experienced, not so bizarre that you cannot act. We must get the pollen to Palodad. Remember, without that, eventually we will still fail.”

Astron turned away his face and pulled his thoughts within himself, trying to shut out totally the collapse rus.h.i.+ng inward. Groping mentally, he felt the fabric of resistance between the two realms and probed it for the flaw, the subtle discontinuity created by the burning of the anvilwood that would create the opening back to his home.

For how long he searched Astron could not tell, but finally he found it, a slight thinning in the essence of resistance that could be pierced by the strength of will. Astron concentrated on the familiar comforts of his own den-the ruggedness of the rocklike walls and the shelves that protruded from them, displaying the artifacts he had collected from the other realms. He envisioned with satisfaction the three volumes standing in a row between the sh.e.l.l and rock crystal that he used as bookends in the manner of men.

Astron strained against the resistance, pus.h.i.+ng it inward, thinning it further, making it more transparent so that he could see and smell what he desired. There was a small pop and then a sudden ripping. He felt himself being drawn away, shrinking into the flame and tumbling into the comforts of his own lair.

For a moment, Astron let the feeling build within him, seeking to slip away and vanish from the dangers all about. His toes slid through the flame and dangled into the ceiling of his lair. Then his ankles followed.

Astron stopped his slide with a start. This time it had

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to be different. He could not luxuriate in the narcotic sweetness of coming home. He stilled himself and stopped his transition. Instead, he concentrated on building an arc in the flame such as he had seen the mighty djinns form in the realm of the fey.

The ripping of the barrier halted, barely big enough for him alone to slip through and little else. He arched his back and placed his hands down into the fire, knotting his muscles and straining against the suddenly increased resistance. He felt the fire of the anvil wood climb up on his legs and arms and eventually meet in the small of his back. Sharp tendrils of pain accompanied their journey, somehow racing along the fibers of his being, reaching even into his fingers and toes and screaming with hurt.

Astron's jaws tightened and his vision blurred. ”Quickly,” he croaked. ”I do not know how long I can maintain an opening this large.

”But I can hardly see anything.” Kestrel peered into the arch beneath Astron's body. ”It is a wall of flames and in its very center a dark disk hardly big enough for a child.”

”It will have to do,” Astron persisted. ”First Nimbia and Phoebe, and then you can follow.”

Phoebe gathered her cape about her and ducked her head between outstretched arms like a diver preparing to leap from a high cliff. She aimed her fingertips at the dark disk and slowly began to work herself through the opening.