The light vanished instantly. And, as I watched, amazed, I saw the burn marks on the plank start to fade away.
“But, that’s impossible!” I cried, dropping the bucket and backing off.
Haplo came out from behind the barrel. He walked across the deck, came to stand in front of the rapidly disappearing circle.
“You’re getting your boots wet,” I pointed out.
By the grim expression on his face, he didn’t seem to care anymore. He lifted one foot, held it over the place where the circle had supported him. Nothing happened. His boot slammed down on the deck.
“In all my life, I’ve never seen or heard of anything—” He broke off, started some new thought. “Why? What can it mean?” His face darkened, he clenched his fist. “The Sartan.”
Turning, without a word or a glance at me, he stormed out of the cabin. I heard his footfalls in the passageway, the slamming of his door. I crept over, stared down at the wet deck. The burn marks were almost completely gone. The wooden planks were wet, but unscarred.
The three of us, Alake, Devon, and I, ate dinner alone. Alake tapped on Haplo’s door and called, but there was no answer. She returned, disappointed and downcast.
I didn’t say anything to her or to Devon. To be honest, I wasn’t certain they’d believe me and I didn’t want to start an argument. After all, I have no proof of anything I saw except a couple of wet boards.
But at least I know the truth.
Whatever that truth may be.
More later. I’m so sleepy I can’t hold the pen any longer.
CHAPTER * 13
SURUNAN CHELESTRA
ALFRED SPENT MANY PLEASANT HOURS WALKING THE STREETS OF Surunan. Like its inhabitants, the city had awakened from its long, enforced slumber and returned swiftly to life. There were far more people than Alfred had first supposed. He must have discovered only one of many Sleeping chambers.
Guided by the Council, the Sartan worked to restore their city to its original beauty. Sartan magic made dead plants green, repaired crumbling buildings, wiped away all traces of destruction. Their city restored to beauty, harmony, peace, and order, the Sartan began to discuss how to do the same to the other three worlds.
Alfred reveled in the tranquility, the beauty his soul remembered. He delighted in the Sartan conversation, the multiplicity of wonderous images created by the magic of the rune language. He heard the music of the runes and wondered, his eyes moist with pleasure, how he could have ever forgotten such beauty. He basked in the friendly smiles of his brothers and sisters.
“I could live here and be happy,” he said to Orla.
They were walking through the city, on their way to a meeting of the Council of Seven. The dog, who had not left Alfred’s side since the night before, accompanied them. The beauty of Surunan was food to Alfred’s soul, which, he realized now, had nearly withered up and died of starvation.
He could, he noted wistfully, actually walk the streets without falling over his feet or anyone else’s.
“I understand how you feel,” said Orla, looking about with pleasure. “It is as it used to be. It seems as if no time has passed at all.”
The dog, feeling itself forgotten, whined and shoved its head into Alfred’s dangling hand.
The touch of the cold nose made Alfred jump. Startled, he looked down at the dog, forgot to watch where he was going, and tumbled into a marble bench.
“Are you all right?” Orla asked in concern.
“Yes, thank you,” Alfred mumbled, picking himself up and endeavoring to put himself back together.
He looked at Orla in her soft white robes, at all the other Sartan dressed alike in their white robes. And he looked down at himself, still wearing the faded purple velvet suit of the mensch court of King Stephen of Arianus. Frayed lace cuffs were too short for his long, gangly arms; the hose covering his ungainly legs were wrinkled and sagging. He ran his hand over his balding head. It seemed to him that the smiles of his brothers and sisters were no longer friendly, but patronizing, pitying.