The grasses fell away, ground fissured, sky blackened . . . Waters rushed through canyons and arroyos all about me . . . Torrents poured from overhead onto the rocking terrain . . .
I began slipping. I cursed each time I picked myself up, for my over-eagerness in the shifting.
The clouds parted like a theater curtain, to where a lemon sun poured warmth and light from a salmon-colored sky. The thunder halted in mid-rumble and a wind rose . . .
I made my way up a hillside, looked down upon a ruined gage. Long-abandoned, partly overgrown, strange mounds lined its broken main street.
I passed through it beneath a slate-colored sky, picked my way slowly across an icy pond, faces of those frozen beneath me staring sightlessly in all directions . . .
The sky was soot-streaked, the snow hard-packed, my breath feathery as I entered the skeletal wood where frozen birds perched: an etching.
Slipping downhill, rolling, sliding into melting and spring . . .
Movement again; about me . . . Mucky ground and clumps of green . . .
Strange cars on distant highway . . .
A junkyard, smelling, oozing, rusting, smoldering . . . Threading my way amid acres of heaps . . . Rats scurrying…
Away . . . Shifting faster, breathing harder . . . Skyline beneath smog cap . . . Delta bottom . . . Seashore . . . Golden pylons along the road . . . Countryside with lakes . . . Brown grasses beneath green sky . . .
Slowing . . . Rolling grassland, river and lake . . . Slowing . . . Breeze and grass, sealike . . . Mopping my brow on my sleeve . . . Sucking air . . . Walking now . . .
I moved through the field at a normal pace, preferring to do my resting in a congenial spot such as this, where I could see for a good distance. The wind made soft noises as it passed among the’ grasses. The nearest lake was a deep lime color. Something in the air smelled sweet.
I thought I saw a brief flash of light off to my right, but when I looked that way there was nothing unusual to be seen. A little later, I was certain that I heard a distant sound of hoofbeats. But again, I saw nothing. That’s the trouble with shadows-you don’t always know what’s natural there; you’re never certain what to look for.
Several minutes passed, and then I smelled it before I saw anything.
Smoke. The next instant there was a rush of fire. A long line of flame cut across my path.
And again the voice: “I told you to go back!”
The wind was behind the fire, pushing it toward me. I turned to head away and saw that it was already flanking me. It takes a while to build up the proper mental set for shadow-shifting, and I had let mine go. I doubted I could set it up again in time.
I began running.
The line of flame was curving about me, as if to describe a huge circle. I did not pause to admire the precision of the thing, however, as I could feel the heat by then and the smoke was getting thicker.
Above the fire’s crackling it seemed that I could still hear the drumming of hoofs. My eyes were beginning to water, though, and streams of smoke further diminished my vision. And again, I detected no sign of the person who had sprung the trap.
Yet-definitely-the ground was shaking with the rapid progress of a hooved creature headed in my direction. The flames flashed higher, drew nearer as the circle coshed toward closure.
I was wondering what new menace was approaching, when a horse and rider burst into view through the gap in the fiery wall. The rider drew back the reins, but the horse-a chestnut-was not too happy at the nearness of the flames it bared its teeth, biting at the bit, and tried several times to rear.
“Hurry! Behind me!” the rider cried, and I rushed to mount.
The rider was a dark-haired woman. I caught only a glimpse of her features. She managed to turn the horse back in the direction from which she had come, and she shook the reins. The chestnut started forward, and suddenly it reared. I managed to hang on.