As the Sun became warmer, he sat on a low bank and folded the cloak, stowing it in his backpack. A drink of the sparkling water produced a shock of pleasure that made him realize how far the wind and rain had depressed his energies.
The captain, relaxing in the sunshine, said: “Here is your friend.” A bird flew low overhead and landed a dozen yards away. The captain was right; it was the raven. Niall was glad to see it; by now, he thought of it as an old friend, and was afraid he had seen the last of it. He took a biscuit from his pack, and tossed half of it to the bird. He was hungry, but decided to follow the troll’s advice, and to take a few drops of the zacynthus essence when his stomach was empty; nevertheless, out of curiosity, he looked inside the cloth-wrapped parcel that the trollwife had given him. It proved to contain slices of bread, a segment from a globular red cheese, some huge radishes, and the end of a joint of uncooked beef, obviously intended for the captain. The spider held this by the end of the bone and ate it standing by the side of the path; the fact that he did so in Niall’s company indicated how far he had come to accept the presence of a human being.
A quarter of an hour later, now feeling less tired, Niall transferred himself into the mind of the bird, and directed it to fly up into the air. Delighted to be sharing Niall’s consciousness, it soared up for a quarter of a mile, so he could see the central plain to their left, with its swift-flowing river, and the strange, twisted mountains that lay ahead, their peaks covered in snow. The wind up here was icy cold. Skollen was one of the less impressive of the peaks, being about a thousand feet high, with a shape like an eroded volcano.
While the bird was still aloft, Niall took the opportunity to find out whether there was some place near Skollen where they might camp for the night. But the terrain was uninviting, empty, and featureless; a mile or so ahead, it rose toward the mountains. It looked as if they had no alternative than to press on to Skollen, now probably about twenty miles — or four hours’ brisk walking — distant. Since it was still at least two hours to midday, they would probably be at the foot of Skollen by midafternoon.
Half an hour later, he was less sure. The land was rising steeply, and the grass had given way to bare rock that was twisted, and hard on the feet; Niall guessed it to be weather-eroded lava — even the sure-footed captain stumbled more than once. There was also a faint smell in the air that he did not recognize, but which reminded him of the burning coke the night watchmen used in the brazier that warmed their hut on the harbor.
When his foot went into a crack and he left his sandal behind, he sat down to pull it loose. The projection of rock he was sitting on had a sharp edge, cutting into his buttocks, and he shifted his weight to make it less uncomfortable, at the same time staring down into a pool of rain that had formed in the crevice. Oddly enough, bubbles of gas were rising through the water, with a sulfurous smell. At that moment, his mind vaulted into the past, and he was suddenly remembering the dream he had experienced in the cave of the chameleon men. He was peering down into a crack in the ground — very much like this one — and feeling the same discomfort from the sharp edge of rock he was sitting on, and a sweet smell, like burnt caramel, was issuing from the crevice.
It lasted only a moment, but caused a curious flash of happiness. He was now hungry; and since his stomach felt empty, he decided it was time to try the liquid the troll had given him. Unscrewing the cap, which was the size of a small cup, he poured into it a few drops of the zacynthus essence, which smelled oddly medicated, then filled it up with water. The flavor was surprisingly bitter, but he grimaced and swallowed it down. His stomach lurched and convulsed, and for a moment he wondered if he was going to be sick. Then the nausea passed, and was succeeded by a sense of relief.
A moment later, as he stood up, he was surprised to find that his fatigue had vanished completely. He bent to pick up the stick, and was even more surprised when, as he touched it, a tingling surge of energy passed through him. This energy was not flowing from the stick, but seemed to come from the ground itself; the stick seemed to act as a contact. He had experienced the same flow of force in the crystal cave, but this was far stronger. It reminded him of an electrical device that was popular among the children of the beetle city, which consisted of two metal cylinders attached to a hand-cranked generator. When the handle was turned, anyone who held the cylinders received a mild electric shock that was like a buzzing vibration in the hands. This Earth-force that now flowed through him, although clearly of a different nature, produced a similar sensation.
He was suddenly filled with an extraordinary zest. Five minutes before, his view of this plane of twisted rock had been jaundiced; now it struck him as extraordinarily interesting — like this whole strange and eventful journey. The cold wind that blew from the mountains, far from seeming disagreeable, now felt as pleasant as a spring breeze.
The captain, sensing this change of mood, looked at him with curiosity. Niall said: “I don’t understand why, but this stick fills me with energy. Try it.”
The spider took it in its claw, and promptly dropped it. “I find it unpleasant.”
Niall realized that the crystal inside the stick was attuned to his own human vibration, and that he might feel just as uncomfortable if he had suddenly found himself turning into a spider.
As they continued on their way, the feeling of being able to draw upon enormous energies filled him with exhilaration. But what struck him most clearly was that this energy was all around him, like the air he breathed; he was absorbing it just as he was breathing the air.
The odd thing was that his hunger had vanished; this energy seemed to be serving as a kind of food.
He felt as fresh as if he were just setting out in the morning, and walked with such a long stride that it became unnecessary for the captain to slow his pace. A sense of rising energy made him feel that he could easily have broken into a jog.
The energy also caused his brain to seethe with ideas. Now that Skollen was visibly closer, he found himself speculating on why the Magician was so consumed with hatred. Of course, a man whose family had been killed by the spiders could be forgiven for hating them. But that was a long time ago, and he had achieved a satisfying revenge in causing the disaster of the Valley of the Dead. Why was the hatred unappeased? What was his purpose? If Niall could understand his aim and his motivations, then he could also understand his weaknesses.
One thing puzzled him deeply. How could the Magician maintain such hatred? Niall recognized instinctively that it was a poison that was as bad for the hater as for the hated. So how had he managed to escape its consequences?
Again, Niall had always pictured the Magician as a man who stood alone, an absolute ruler, with no friends or intimates. But no living creature is designed to stand totally alone. Niall had once believed that the Spider Lord was such a being, until he discovered that all spiders are a part of a communal web, and that even great rulers like Cheb are never truly alone. So how could the Magician endure the loneliness that is the destiny of tyrants?
But what if Niall was as mistaken about the Magician as he had been mistaken about the Spider Lord? In that case, why should there not be peace between the spiders and the inhabitants of Shadowland?
As if to terminate these speculations, a deafening clap of thunder was followed by an instant downpour of freezing rain. For a few minutes it fell so heavily that it was impossible to walk on. Niall crouched down on the ground, but before he could unfold his cloak, he was soaked to the skin. There was no shelter, not even a rock to break the wind.
The captain contracted himself into a ball with his legs bunched underneath him. Niall sat on his backpack to avoid the sharp rocks, and placed his cloak over his head like a tent. And although it was waterproof, the rain, which blew against him with a sound like hail, had soon penetrated it. Within minutes he found that he was crouching in a stream of water that ran down the rocks like a small river. Niall found himself entertaining the notion that the Magician was opposing their attempts to reach his kingdom.