I gave the second one, which was located about ten inches to the left of the first, well over a minute of the same treatment, and I found it hard to tell when I’d let up whether I’d affected it much.
I did not like the taste of the plaster and the pigment used in the design. I was not sure what lay beneath the plaster, holding the nails in place. Not enough of that covering had chipped away for me to distinguish the surface it covered, only enough for grit with a damp basement taste to come into my mouth.
I stepped back. The design looked slobbered-upon, and I wondered how dog spit would affect its subtle functions.
“Please don’t quit,” Cheeter said. “Try again.”
“I’m just catching my breath,” I told him. “I’ve been using my front teeth so far, because it was easier. I’m going to switch to the side now.”
So I leaned again and took a grip with my back teeth, right side, upon the nail which seemed to have responded slightly to my suasions. I had it moving, then loosening, before too long.
Finally, I dropped it and listened. Silver makes a pleasant sound when it’s struck.
“Six,” I announced. “How does it feel now?”
“More tingling,” Cheeter said. “Maybe some sort of anticipation.”
“Last chance to quit while you’re ahead,” I said, as I repositioned myself to use the left side of my jaws on the final one.
“Go ahead,” he told me.
So I caught hold and began to work it, slowly, with steady pressure rather than jerking movements, which I had learned from the previous one to be more effective. I feared for my teeth, but nothing cracked or chipped. As much as I liked the sound of silver, I did not like its cold metallic taste.
And all this while the shadow itself flowed over my face intermittently, passing before my eyes like a quick cloud before the sun, wrapping me momentarily, falling loose again.
I felt the nail move. My jaws were beginning to ache by then, though, and I switched sides. I’ve cracked large bones with my teeth, and I know the power that is there. But this required more than simple biting ability. It was the movement that was really important, involving my neck muscles as well as my jaws. Forward, back. . . .
And then the nail began to loosen. I paused to rest.
“What do we do when it’s free?” I asked them. “What’s to prevent its simply slipping away? Is there any special means of reattaching it?”
“I don’t know,” Cheeter said. “I never thought of that.”
“How was it separated from you in the first place?” Graymalk asked.
“He made a light and cast it there upon the wall,” Cheeter said. “He drove in the nails, then passed his sickle close to my body, somehow severing it. When I moved away, it remained. I felt different immediately.”
“It will respond to your life,” Graymalk said, “if you position yourself correctly and it flows over you. But your life must be exposed at the seven points which held it, and it will respond to the nails which bound it.”
“What do you mean?” Cheeter asked.
“Blood,” she said. “You must scratch a wound on the back of each paw, one atop your head, one at the middle of your tail, one midback, the seven places the shadow was pierced. When Snuff removes the final nail he must take care not simply to draw it straight out but to drag it downward, snagging the shadow, pulling it to cover you. You will then be standing with a foot on each of the four nails which held the paws, your tail resting upon that of the tail, your head extended and down to touch the sixth…”
“I don’t know which nail is which now,” he said.
“I do,” she replied. “I’ve been watching. Then Snuff will drag the shadow over you and drop its nail upon your back at the place of the seventh wound. This should serve to bind it to you again.”
“Gray,” I said, “how do you know all this?”
“I was recently given a small wisdom,” she responded.