“Is that…what happened?” he asked. “I couldn’t quite recall…why I was here-except to race with you.”
“I’ll bet your most recent memories before this place involve negotiating the Logrus.”
He looked back. He nodded.
“You’re right. What does it all mean?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “But I’ve got some ideas about it. This place is a kind of eternal underside to Shadow. It’s damn near off limits for both the Pattern and the Logrus. But both can apparently penetrate here by means of their ghosts-artificial constructs from the recordings they made of us back when we passed through them-“
“You mean that all I am is some sort of recording?” He looked as if he were about to cry. “Everything seemed so glorious just a little while ago. I’d made it through the Logrus. All of Shadow lay at my feet.” He massaged his temples. Then, “You!” he spat. “I was somehow brought here because of you-to compete with you, to show you up in this race.”
“You did a pretty good job, too. I didn’t know you could run like that.”
“I started practicing when I learned you were doing it in college. Wanted to get good enough to take you on.”
“You got good,” I acknowledged.
“But I wouldn’t be in this damned place if it weren’t for you. Or-“ He gnawed his lip. “That’s not exactly right, is it?” he asked. “I wouldn’t be anywhere. I’m just a recording….” Then he stared directly at me. “How long do we last?” he said. “How long is a Logrus-ghost good for?”
“I’ve no idea,” I said, “what goes into creating one or how it’s maintained. But I’ve met a number of Pattern-ghosts, and they gave me the impression that my blood would somehow sustain them, give them some sort of autonomy, some independence of the Pattern. Only one of them-Brand-got the fire instead of the blood, and it dissolved. Deirdre got the blood but was taken away then. I don’t know whether she got enough.”
He shook his head.
“I’ve a feeling-I don’t know where it comes from-that something like that would work for me, too, and that it’s blood for the Pattern, fire for the Logrus.”
“I don’t know how to tell in what regions my blood is volatile,” I said.
“It’d flame here,” he answered. “Depends on who’s is control. I just seem to know it. I don’t know how.”
“Then why did Brand show up in Logrus territory?” He grinned.
“Maybe the Pattern sought to use a traitor for some sort of subversion. Or maybe Brand was trying to pull something on his own-like double-crossing the Pattern.”
“That would be in character,” I agreed, my breath finally slowing.
I whipped the Chaos blade out of my boot, slashed my left forearm, saw that it spouted fire, and held it toward him.
“Quick! Take it if you can!” I cried. “Before the Logrus calls you back!”
He seized my arm and seemed almost to inhale the fire that fountained from me. Looking down, I saw his feet become transparent, then his legs. The Logrus seemed anxious to reclaim him, just as the Pattern had Deirdre. I saw the fiery swirls begin within the haze that had been his legs. Then, suddenly, they flickered out, and the outline of those limbs became visible once again. He continued to draw my volatile blood from me, though I could no longer see flames as he was drinking now as Deirdre had, directly from the wound. His legs began to solidify.
“You seem to be stabilizing,” I said. “Take more.”
Something struck me in the right kidney, and I jerked away, turning as I fell. A tall dark man stood beside me, withdrawing his boot from having kicked me. He had on green trousers and a black shirt, a green bandanna tied about his head.
“Now what perverse carrying-on is this?” he asked. “And in a sacred spot?”
I rolled to my knees and continued on up to my feet, my right arm bending, its wrist turning over, coming in to hold the dagger beside my hip. I raised my left arm, extended it before me. Blood rather than fire now fell from my latest wound.