It was logical to assume that whatever WUPP Geg found the L mark on the dig-claw would send down the help-hand to the same location or as near as he or she could get. Of course, there was every possibility that no one had seen the L, or that they couldn’t get the help-hand ready in time, or countless other dire Occurrences. Running along, tripping and stumbling over the heaps of broken coralite, Limbeck tried to prepare himself to accept without disappointment the fact that no help-hand would be there.
But it was.
The wave of relief that broke over Limbeck when he saw the help-hand sitting on the ground right near his pit nearly drowned the Geg. His knees went weak; he grew light-headed and had to sit down a moment to recover.
His first thought was to hurry, for the dig-claws were about to rise again. Staggering to his feet, he headed back for the crater at a run. His legs informed him in no uncertain terms that they were on the verge of rebellion against this unusual amount of exercise. Pausing a moment for the pain to subside, Limbeck reflected that he probably didn’t have to hurry after all. Surely they wouldn’t bring up the help-hand until they were certain he was in it.
The pain drained from his legs but seemed to take all his strength with it. His limbs felt six times heavier than normal, and in addition, instead of his legs supporting him, Limbeck had the distinct impression that he was dragging them along. Wearily, stumbling and falling, he made his slow way back to the crater. He slid down the sides almost reluctantly, certain that, in his absence, the god-who-wasn’t had died.
The god was still breathing, however. The dog, huddled as closely as possible next to its master’s body, had rested its head on the god’s chest, its eyes keeping watch over the pallid, blood-covered face.
The thought of dragging the god’s heavy body up out of the crater and across the cracked and pitted landscape sank Limbeck’s heart and left his spirits as heavy as his legs.
“I can’t do it,” he muttered, collapsing next to the god, his head resting on his propped-up knees. “I don’t think … I can even make it back . . . myself!”
His spectacles steamed up from the vast heat he had worked up. Sweat chilled on his body. Adding another blow to his already numb mind and body, a rumble of thunder indicated a storm brewing. Limbeck didn’t care. Just as long as he didn’t have to get to his feet again.
“But this god-who-isn’t will prove you were right!” nagged that irritating voice. “At last you will have the power to persuade the Gegs that they’ve been deluded, used as slaves. This could be the dawning of a new day for your people! This could start the revolution!”
The revolution! Limbeck lifted his head. He couldn’t see a thing, due to the mist over his spectacles, but that didn’t matter.
He wasn’t looking at his surroundings anyway. He was back on Drevlin, the Gegs were cheering him. What was even more beautiful, they were doing as he advised.
They were asking “why”!
Limbeck could never afterward clearly recall the next harrowing span of time. He remembered that he tore up his shirt to make a crude bandage to wrap around the head of the god. He remembered glancing askance at the dog, being uncertain how the dog would react to anyone moving its master. He remembered that the dog licked his hand and looked at him with its liquid eyes and stood aside, watching anxiously as the Geg lifted the limp body of the god and began hauling him up the side of the crater. After that, Limbeck remembered nothing but aching muscles and sobbing for breath and dragging himself and the body a few feet, then collapsing, then crawling forward, then collapsing, then struggling on again.
The dig-claws went back up into the sky, though the Geg never noticed. The storm broke, increasing his terror, for he knew that they could not hope to survive its full fury out in the open. He was forced to remove his spectacles, and between his myopia, the blinding rain, and the gathering gloom, Limbeck lost sight of the help-hand. He could only keep traveling in what he hoped was the general direction.