Lying awake, his dreams lit by the candles of the stars, he thought it out carefully. Every sense must be alert. He must make no misstep. He must enter the Forbidden and walk slowly and quietly across the outer court to the Hall of Archives. Once inside the Hall, he must find the area of maps at once and seek out the chart of the Forbidden.
He must be ever wary of those Death Doors. He must find Erik and free him, and then they must escape by the quickest possible route.
What of Kawasi?
He sat up suddenly. What of Kawasi? She was returning with him, going to her people, but what then? What of him? What of them together? Did she know how he felt? He had not spoken. Well, after a fashion he had. After he had freed Erik, would she come with him? Could she come? Dared she leave her people, whose welfare was in her hands?
Something seemed to stir in the night, a vast, weird sensation such as he had never felt. It was as if the whole earth gave a slow sigh, and then subsided. For a moment he thought he felt an earthquake, but the earth did not tremble. No rocks fell.
He lunged to his feet, somehow shocked and frightened. Frightened of what?
Kawasi was beside him. “Oh, Mike! It is happening!”
“What’s happening?” He was irritated because he did not know. He could not explain. It was unlike anything he had experienced.
“It is what I spoke of! Do you remember? How I said sometimes the openings are all closed? And it lasts for many years? Thirty, forty years or more?”
“I remember your mentioning it, of course, but—”
“I have been told of it. This … what just happened, this happens before. When it happens again, it is for a long time, maybe forever. I do not know what it is. Perhaps time itself shudders, perhaps space. Perhaps what happens here is in time with something else. Just as there are earthquakes, may there not be—”
“How much time do we have?” Suddenly he was very cool, very alert.
“I do not know. It is quick. Twenty-four of your hours, perhaps forty-eight. No more, I am sure. Whatever you would do, you must do before then. You must find Erik and get him out, or stay the rest of your life on the Other Side.”
“I’d be with you.”
Even as he said it he knew he was selfish. He wanted to be with her, but he wanted her on his side of the curtain. He wanted her with him, in his world. He wanted to take care of her, to make a place for her, and over here he could do it. Over there he would know nothing, he would be out of the picture, at least for a long time.
“We can’t wait, then. We’ve got to go now.”
“All right,” she said.
Even as she spoke he told himself he was a fool. This was the perfect alibi. If the curtain was drawn, if the ways were closed off for thirty years, what could he do? If he could stall, just delay a little, he could keep her over here and he would not be duty-bound to go after Erik. He would have Kawasi and they would be free to build a life here, in his world.
“Mike? If we are going … ?”
“All right,” he said, and they went down the mountain in the darkness, down the canyon into the place that Johnny found. His mouth was dry and his throat tight. He was scared. Yet at the same time something was swelling within him, some strange eagerness, some anticipation for what was to come.
Now! he told himself. Now you’ll find out! Now for the ultimate, the final adventure!
Adventure? The word had always irritated him. It was so cheaply used, a cheap, romantic word on the lips of those who had never experienced anything like it. Being adrift in an open boat at sea was an “adventure,” but who wanted it?
Kawasi went quickly down the canyon and he followed. It was not quite as dark as it had been, or was it just that his eyes were growing accustomed to the night? No, the moon must be rising beyond the mountains.
He had always believed he was good in the mountains, but Kawasi was better. She moved like a ghost over the broken rock, scattered pebbles, and among the low-growing brush, moved almost without a sound.
She was of that world, if it existed, and there must be a simple, logical explanation. We are a people, he reflected, who thrive on explanations. No matter what happens someone comes forward with a simple explanation and the mystery vanishes or is thrust into its respective pigeonhole and conveniently forgotten. Of course, if there are a dozen people present, there will be not one but several explanations, and the one presented by the person with the most authority will be accepted.
Kawasi stopped suddenly, lifting a hand, listening. He heard nothing. What was he getting into? All his life he had heard of time warps, had known that our seemingly orderly world was actually far from orderly.
Standing slightly behind her, aware of little more than vague darkness, Mike Raglan tried to bring himself back to reality. He was a young man, with a beautiful girl, alone in a desert, and supposedly she was about to lead him into another world, a world that existed parallel with his own.
“It is here,” she whispered. “Take my hand.”
She stepped forward quickly and he had a quick, flashing vision of a tunnellike opening at his feet, and then he fell. There was a moment of gasping horror as he seemed to be falling into a pit, and then he struck the ground, face down.
A moment he lay still; then, lifting his head, he spat dust from his mouth and tried to sit up.
A hand pressed down, and someone hissed, “Ssh!” warningly.
He lay still, swearing to himself, but in the midst of the swearing he heard movement and was suddenly alert. Someone was near them. Someone was approaching.
He felt movement beside him on the ground. It was Kawasi. Her fingers gripped his, warning him again. He lay perfectly still, wanting to reach for his gun, yet dreading the thought of what a pistol shot would do to the night. It would certainly bring enemies, if any were about. He would be rid of one, perhaps, only to have a dozen or a hundred come down upon them.
His chest felt tight and uncomfortable and he was suddenly conscious of his breathing. His breath was coming in gasps as if he had been running. He fought to stifle the sound.
He was immediately aware of something else. He was lying upon grass! Not rock, but grass. Above all, he could smell it. He could smell the dampness of nearby water, too. And there was a vague smell of something burning.
He could feel Kawasi beside him, her hand clutching his, warning him. Who was approaching? And where did this grass come from? There was some in the bottom of the Hole, but a coarser grass than this.
A voice spoke, but he could not understand the words, and then there was a reply from a greater distance. The footsteps ceased to move, and mentally Raglan gathered himself, preparing to leap to his feet.
Footsteps again, retreating now, and then again the voices, speaking in some foreign tongue. He had a smattering of languages, never staying long enough in one place to be proficient, but this was unlike anything he knew. It was, he decided, more like Castilian Spanish than anything he could remember. Like, he reflected, but unlike.
A stick cracked as if being broken for a fire. Almost without a sound, Kawasi got to her feet and he followed. Still holding his hand she started off, keeping to the darkness. Suddenly he could see the fire, a low blaze with several men lying about, wearing blue.
The Varanel!
A border guard, or something of the kind. But why here? Why—He paused so suddenly that his grip stopped her. It hit him so hard he caught his breath.
They were on the Other Side!
Impossible! It was … ! “Come!” she whispered, and he followed, careful not to stumble. They were still walking on grass, moving toward what appeared to be trees. Once among the trees she stopped. “Something is wrong!” she whispered. “Something is very wrong! What are they doing here?”
There was something close to panic in her tone. He looked around, and dark though it was he could see what must be the sky, although he saw no stars. Towering above the forest on the edge of which they stood was a cliff that must rise a thousand feet sheer from the ground. There was nothing like that near the mesa of the ruin.