the closet. It was deep and bright, yet almost black. St. Helens blinked as the color vanished, and with it Kelvin.
“Gods!” St. Helens said, awed more than he had even been before in his life. “Gods!”
He shivered from head to toe. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have! But dammit, the kid needed a lesson. Better him than me. Better get out.
He glanced at the parchment, written in those hen-scratchings that he had never bothered to learn to read. Then down at the levitation belt and the gauntlets.
“At least I can take the laser. At least that.” he said.
His hand shook as he picked up the familiar weapon, checking its setting and safety. It would do. Do for old Melbah and, if necessary, for the brat king and an entire army.
He felt a little better now. The weapon put him in command.
He would like the levitation belt. He could work out how to use it, he was certain. Take that with him into Aratex, levitate above Conjurer’s Rock, and scorch the old crone’s feathers. That would end things fast.
The gauntlets lay like severed hands on the belt. If he was to take one, he might as well take all.
Reaching down, not letting himself think about it, he grabbed up the gauntlets and quickly slipped them on. He stood for a few moments trying to feel something, anything, but his hands felt just like his hands. Interestingly, the gauntlets had stretched over his hands for a perfect fit: hands twice the size of Hackleberry’s.
“Damn,” he said. “Damn!” He flexed and unflexed his fingers, feeling stronger second by second. They would work for him, these fancy gloves; he knew they’d work for him. He would succeed now; he’d have to. With a levitation belt, a laser, and the gauntlets, he had to be very nearly invincible.
Placing the laser under his shirt and stuffing the levitation belt down beside it, he reflected that he was now as well equipped as he could imagine. Unless the old witch had an atomic rocket hidden, she was finished.
Feeling good about his suddenly improved prospects, St. Helens left the chamber, closed the door, and climbed back into the boat.
Chapter 9
Lonny
The morning sun was partway up, its warming rays lighting the sparsely spaced rocks and plants of the Barrens. Facing the rays, feeling their warmth, Lonny Burk tried to lose her thoughts in the physical sensations of the sunshine, the very light breeze, and the sand she was trickling between her fingers. None of it worked. She was still thinking about him: about Kian Knight and what he was doing for them. She knew he had consumed one or more of the berries, and she knew why.
A scorpiocrab the size of two of Kian’s hands darted from behind a pile of horse droppings, snapped its pincers, moved its eyes in and out on their stalks, and then disappeared behind Jac’s tent. They had been in there for an unusual length of time and it worried her. She hated to think of him lying there, his perfect body unmoving and lifeless while his inner self went out to the flopears. It was so much like death, this astral traveling.
Jac wanted her. She had no doubt of that. Why couldn’t she desire him instead of the stranger? She knew Jac was a good man, a fine thief, and a true patriot who wanted to overthrow their king. Such a man should be a logical catch for a girl from Fairview. He had even been in the serpent valley to save her, and of course he had done that, with Kian’s help. She had seen him looking at her, appraising her, as the tax collector led her out of town on what had been her father’s favorite horse. It could have been the horse that interested him, but she knew it wasn’t. Thus Jac had gone alone to try to rescue her, to steal her as he stole the skins. Then Kian had come, Jac had rescued Kian, and Kian had behaved madly or heroically or both and rescued them all. Then they had come here, and now things were proceeding much too quickly. She had hoped to love Kian once, just once, before his leaving.
But Kian
“Gods!” St. Helens said, awed more than he had even been before in his life. “Gods!”
He shivered from head to toe. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have! But dammit, the kid needed a lesson. Better him than me. Better get out.
He glanced at the parchment, written in those hen-scratchings that he had never bothered to learn to read. Then down at the levitation belt and the gauntlets.
“At least I can take the laser. At least that.” he said.
His hand shook as he picked up the familiar weapon, checking its setting and safety. It would do. Do for old Melbah and, if necessary, for the brat king and an entire army.
He felt a little better now. The weapon put him in command.
He would like the levitation belt. He could work out how to use it, he was certain. Take that with him into Aratex, levitate above Conjurer’s Rock, and scorch the old crone’s feathers. That would end things fast.
The gauntlets lay like severed hands on the belt. If he was to take one, he might as well take all.
Reaching down, not letting himself think about it, he grabbed up the gauntlets and quickly slipped them on. He stood for a few moments trying to feel something, anything, but his hands felt just like his hands. Interestingly, the gauntlets had stretched over his hands for a perfect fit: hands twice the size of Hackleberry’s.
“Damn,” he said. “Damn!” He flexed and unflexed his fingers, feeling stronger second by second. They would work for him, these fancy gloves; he knew they’d work for him. He would succeed now; he’d have to. With a levitation belt, a laser, and the gauntlets, he had to be very nearly invincible.
Placing the laser under his shirt and stuffing the levitation belt down beside it, he reflected that he was now as well equipped as he could imagine. Unless the old witch had an atomic rocket hidden, she was finished.
Feeling good about his suddenly improved prospects, St. Helens left the chamber, closed the door, and climbed back into the boat.
Chapter 9
Lonny
The morning sun was partway up, its warming rays lighting the sparsely spaced rocks and plants of the Barrens. Facing the rays, feeling their warmth, Lonny Burk tried to lose her thoughts in the physical sensations of the sunshine, the very light breeze, and the sand she was trickling between her fingers. None of it worked. She was still thinking about him: about Kian Knight and what he was doing for them. She knew he had consumed one or more of the berries, and she knew why.
A scorpiocrab the size of two of Kian’s hands darted from behind a pile of horse droppings, snapped its pincers, moved its eyes in and out on their stalks, and then disappeared behind Jac’s tent. They had been in there for an unusual length of time and it worried her. She hated to think of him lying there, his perfect body unmoving and lifeless while his inner self went out to the flopears. It was so much like death, this astral traveling.
Jac wanted her. She had no doubt of that. Why couldn’t she desire him instead of the stranger? She knew Jac was a good man, a fine thief, and a true patriot who wanted to overthrow their king. Such a man should be a logical catch for a girl from Fairview. He had even been in the serpent valley to save her, and of course he had done that, with Kian’s help. She had seen him looking at her, appraising her, as the tax collector led her out of town on what had been her father’s favorite horse. It could have been the horse that interested him, but she knew it wasn’t. Thus Jac had gone alone to try to rescue her, to steal her as he stole the skins. Then Kian had come, Jac had rescued Kian, and Kian had behaved madly or heroically or both and rescued them all. Then they had come here, and now things were proceeding much too quickly. She had hoped to love Kian once, just once, before his leaving.
But Kian
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