it. He shot upward at the angle, passing right through the building and into the nocturnal sky. The process was exhilarating. Up, up he sailed, feeling no wind, no change of temperature. The magic of the Sword kept him secure.
“But you must guide it, when the destination is not familiar to it,” a cloud said.
Mym experienced
deja vu
. “Were you at the Honeymoon Castle?” he sang.
“Not specifically,” another cloud replied. “I am in all things, but I don’t interfere where I don’t need to.”
“A cloud talked to me, there,” he sang.
“They do, on occasion,” the cloud he was now passing agreed. “You may wish to steer inland.”
He looked down and discovered that he was high over the surging Indian Ocean. He directed the Sword south-east, and his direction of travel changed accordingly.
He accelerated and the sea and dark shore moved by at a phenomenal pace, but still Mym himself stood casually upright, feeling no wind resistance. Though it was dark, he was able to see around him; either his night vision was sufficient, or the Sword was lending him enhanced powers of observation. He flew in toward the giant city of Bombay, where he knew Rapture had been sent.
Lights shone all across the city, and the palace was brightest of all. Mym had no trouble reaching it. He simply flew in through a stone wall and landed lightly on an upper floor.
But the palace was huge, and there were many chambers and suites. How could he locate Rapture, without causing a stir while he searched?
Gaea’s mist appeared, like vapor condensing. “Use the Sword again,” she advised. “I understand that it can tune in on the identity of any person and enable you to share that person’s awareness. It is one-way; the subject is not aware of you. But it can be quite useful on occasion.”
“Tune in—on Rapture?” he sang. “But her privacy—I don’t like to—”
“You have changed since the Honeymoon Castle. This, however, need not be that intimate. Merely avail yourself of her perceptions, to identify her location; then go to it.”
Oh. Mym touched the Sword.
Rapture of Malachite, Princess of Maharastra
, he thought.
Nothing happened.
“Titles mean nothing to it,” Gaea advised him gently. “It perceives only the essence.”
Mym tried again. This time he thought of the woman he loved.
He found himself looking at an ornate feminine dagger.
He blinked—and he was still standing in the chamber, his finger touching the Red Sword.
It had been Rapture’s dagger he had seen.
She was contemplating suicide.
He looked again, this time tuning in on the peripheral aspects of her vision. She was in her private bedroom, alone—but where was that? He was not familiar with the layout of this palace; that room could be anywhere.
Then her gaze wandered vacantly to the mirror, and he saw her forlorn reflection. Her lustrous tresses had dimmed, and her green-malachite eyes were rimmed in red. She was so lost without him! She had been dependent on her father and now she was dependent on Mym; stripped of that support, she was collapsing into herself. He had loved her because of that fundamental vulnerability; she truly did need him.
Behind her reflected face, a portion of a window showed, and beyond it was a fragment of green. She had set a green handkerchief at the sill, perhaps to dry after being soaked with her tears. That was so like her!
He grasped the Sword.
Out
he directed.
He sailed out through the wall and around the palace. There in an upper window on the north side was a speck of green. He homed in on it, then passed in through the window to land on the floor. “Rapture,” he sang.
She jumped, spun about, recognized him, and collapsed.
He jumped forward and caught her as she fell. “Beloved!” he said, not stuttering for the moment. He held her, kissed her, and held her some more, and in a moment she revived.
“Beloved!” she echoed.
“I have come to claim you,” he sang. “But there is much to
“But you must guide it, when the destination is not familiar to it,” a cloud said.
Mym experienced
deja vu
. “Were you at the Honeymoon Castle?” he sang.
“Not specifically,” another cloud replied. “I am in all things, but I don’t interfere where I don’t need to.”
“A cloud talked to me, there,” he sang.
“They do, on occasion,” the cloud he was now passing agreed. “You may wish to steer inland.”
He looked down and discovered that he was high over the surging Indian Ocean. He directed the Sword south-east, and his direction of travel changed accordingly.
He accelerated and the sea and dark shore moved by at a phenomenal pace, but still Mym himself stood casually upright, feeling no wind resistance. Though it was dark, he was able to see around him; either his night vision was sufficient, or the Sword was lending him enhanced powers of observation. He flew in toward the giant city of Bombay, where he knew Rapture had been sent.
Lights shone all across the city, and the palace was brightest of all. Mym had no trouble reaching it. He simply flew in through a stone wall and landed lightly on an upper floor.
But the palace was huge, and there were many chambers and suites. How could he locate Rapture, without causing a stir while he searched?
Gaea’s mist appeared, like vapor condensing. “Use the Sword again,” she advised. “I understand that it can tune in on the identity of any person and enable you to share that person’s awareness. It is one-way; the subject is not aware of you. But it can be quite useful on occasion.”
“Tune in—on Rapture?” he sang. “But her privacy—I don’t like to—”
“You have changed since the Honeymoon Castle. This, however, need not be that intimate. Merely avail yourself of her perceptions, to identify her location; then go to it.”
Oh. Mym touched the Sword.
Rapture of Malachite, Princess of Maharastra
, he thought.
Nothing happened.
“Titles mean nothing to it,” Gaea advised him gently. “It perceives only the essence.”
Mym tried again. This time he thought of the woman he loved.
He found himself looking at an ornate feminine dagger.
He blinked—and he was still standing in the chamber, his finger touching the Red Sword.
It had been Rapture’s dagger he had seen.
She was contemplating suicide.
He looked again, this time tuning in on the peripheral aspects of her vision. She was in her private bedroom, alone—but where was that? He was not familiar with the layout of this palace; that room could be anywhere.
Then her gaze wandered vacantly to the mirror, and he saw her forlorn reflection. Her lustrous tresses had dimmed, and her green-malachite eyes were rimmed in red. She was so lost without him! She had been dependent on her father and now she was dependent on Mym; stripped of that support, she was collapsing into herself. He had loved her because of that fundamental vulnerability; she truly did need him.
Behind her reflected face, a portion of a window showed, and beyond it was a fragment of green. She had set a green handkerchief at the sill, perhaps to dry after being soaked with her tears. That was so like her!
He grasped the Sword.
Out
he directed.
He sailed out through the wall and around the palace. There in an upper window on the north side was a speck of green. He homed in on it, then passed in through the window to land on the floor. “Rapture,” he sang.
She jumped, spun about, recognized him, and collapsed.
He jumped forward and caught her as she fell. “Beloved!” he said, not stuttering for the moment. He held her, kissed her, and held her some more, and in a moment she revived.
“Beloved!” she echoed.
“I have come to claim you,” he sang. “But there is much to
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