It took note of me as I drew near, turning in my direction. Its face was still hidden as it raised its weapon. I rushed forward, regretting only that I had not had time to envenom my blade. I spun twice as I went in, feinting, to strike somewhere in the vicinity of its left knee.
There followed a flash of light and I was falling, falling, bits of flame descending about me, like a burning blizzard. I fell so for what seemed an age and a half, coming to rest at last upon my back atop a large stone table marked out like a sundial, its stylus barely missing impaling mewhich seemed crazy even in a dream. There were no sundials in the Courts of Chaos, for there is no sun there. I was located at the edge of a courtyard beside a high, dark tower, and I found myself unable to move, let alone rise. Above me, my mother, Dara, stood upon a low balcony in her natural form, looking down at me in her awful power and beauty.
“Mother!” I cried. “Free me!”
“I have sent one to help you,” she answered.
“And what of Amber?”
“I do not know.”
“And my father?”
“Speak not to me of the dead.”
The stylus turned slowly; positioned itself above my throat; began a gradual but steady descent.
“Help me!” I cried. “Hurry!”
“Where are you?” she called out, head turning, eyes daring. “Where have you gone?”
“I’m still here!” I yelled.
“Where are you?”
I felt the stylus touch the side of my neck-The vision broke and fell apart.
My shoulders were propped against something unyielding, my legs were stretched out before me. Someone had just squeezed my shoulder, the hand brushing against my neck.
“Merle, you okay? Want a drink?” a familiar voice was, asking.
I took a deep breath and sighed it out. I blinked several times. The light was blue, the world a field of lines and angles. A dipper of water appeared before my mouth.
“Here.” It was Luke’s voice.
I drank it all.
“Want another?”
“Yes.”
“Just a minute.”
I felt his weight shift, heard his footsteps recede. I regarded the diffusely illuminated wall six or seven feet before me.
I ran my hand along the floor. It seemed to be of the same material.
Shortly, Luke returned, smiling, and passed me the dipper. I drained it and handed it back.
“Want more?” he asked.
“No. Where are we?”
“In a cave – a big, pretty place.”
“Where’d you get the water?”
“In a side cavern, up that way.” He gestured. “Several barrels of it in there. Also lots of food. Want something to eat?”
“Not yet. Are you okay?”
“Kind of beat,” he replied, “but intact. You don’t seem to have any broken bones, and that cut on your face has stopped bleeding.”
“That’s something, anyway,” I said.
I climbed slowly to my feet; the final strands of dreams withdrawing slowly as I rose. I saw then that Luke had turned and was walking away. I followed him for several paces before I thought to inquire, “Where are you going?”
“In there,” he answered, pointing with the dipper.
I followed him through an opening in the wall and into a cold cavern about the size of my old apartment’s living room. Four large wooden barrels stood along the wall to my left, and Luke proceeded to hang the dipper upon the upper edge of the nearest. Against the far wall were great stacks of cartons and piles of sacks.
“Canned goods,” he announced. “Fruit; vegetables, ham, salmon, biscuits, sweets. Several cases of wine. A Coleman stove. Plenty of sterno. Even a bottle or two of cognac.”
He turned and brushed quickly past me, headed on up the hall again.
“Now where?” I asked.
But he was moving fast and did not reply. I had to hurry to catch up.
We passed several branches and openings before he halted at another, nodding.
“Latrine in there. Just a hole with some boards over it. Good idea to keep it covered, I’d say.”
“What the hell is this?” I asked.
He raised his hand. “It will all become clear in a minute. This way.”