Palaces Of Light. James Axler
a picture of what it would be like to throw himself or herself into the crevice. A despair at their progress swept across them like a wave. What point was there in going on when they couldn’t see their prey? How far in front, how distant were they?
It was inevitable that, with this clouding their focus, one of them would stumble and fall. Almost as inevitable was that it would be one of the weakest of the group. And yet this was where fate had a surprise in store for them, for although Doc found his mind clouding, and his feet becoming heavy and cumbersome, it was J.B. who suddenly felt his combat boots slip on loose shale. Taken momentarily by surprise, he felt his leg shoot out from under him. He threw out an arm, grabbing instinctively for Ryan.
The one-eyed man felt J.B. pull on him, and he was thrown off balance. Beneath him, that which had once been solid was now almost fluid as it slid out from under his feet.
He heard Krysty and Mildred both yell, as he and the Armorer found themselves falling into space.
* * *
MORGAN WAS DOZING fitfully in the morning light as it penetrated the heavy covers over the windows of his hut. The fire had died down and was now little more than a few smoking embers and wisps of smoke, the smell of the sweet, burned wood permeating the room. The baron was hunkered down on the far side of the room, staring into the embers, lost in thoughts of his own. Since the moment the dark force had reached out and thrust him back, Morgan had been content to remain within himself. He might have had some small degree of power, but he knew that whatever was behind the people who had taken the children was far more powerful. Baron or not, he wouldn’t risk going near it again. Tell K whatever he wanted to hear—make it up, if necessary. But he didn’t want to feel that icy claw around his heart again.
“Don’t hold out on me,” K murmured without looking up.
Morgan looked across at the baron. Had K been watching him? Did he, in some way, have the power to see into the old man’s mind? A power that he didn’t, perhaps, even realize he had?
“Whatever you’re seeing, I need to know. Even if you don’t think it’s what I want to hear. I won’t hold you responsible. But I have to know.”
I don’t think you do, Morgan thought but wouldn’t dare say.
Instead he said, “There’s nothing to tell you. At the moment all is dark, as though there was some kind of blanket thrown over the glass.”
K chuckled, albeit without humor. “You’re speaking in riddles, Morgan. Don’t do that. Speak plain.”
“Very well.” The old man sniffed. “There’s some kind of power that’s stopping me seeing clearly, but—”
“What is it?” K was electrified into sudden movement. With a speed that spoke of his strength, he moved from his haunches and across the room in one smooth movement, until he had Morgan’s face in his hands. He was holding it up to whatever light he could find, trying to get a better view. For his part, the old man was making desperate gurgling sounds on the back of his throat, his eyes rolled up into his head so that only the whites showed, yellow and awful as the few shafts of light to penetrate the gloom caught them. Spittle rolled down his chin and into his beard.
“What is it? What is it, man? Tell me!” K roared, as if sheer volume would break through the barrier between them.
But Morgan couldn’t answer. All intent of lying to the baron had been lost, and now all hope of soft-pedaling in an attempt to stay on the right side of the baron was also a cause that was given up. For Morgan had wanted to steer clear of the dark force that One-eye and his motley crew were pursuing. He wished them well, but he knew when he was facing something greater than he had ever believed existed. He didn’t even care about the children. The ones he knew. Even the ones he cared about. Such was the fear that this dark power had instilled in him with one swoop.
Morgan wanted to steer clear, but the dark force wouldn’t let him. It was almost as if it was sentient, seeking to use him as a tool, to scare the baron away from further pursuit.
Struggle as he might to deny it, Morgan was seeing what was happening to Ryan and his people. He hated it, for so many reasons.
But he couldn’t deny it.
* * *
RYAN YELLED in anger and surprise. He was furious with the fates and with himself. He was certain that he had a sure footing, and that he would be able to take the weight of the Armorer as he reached out for him. It should have been simple to grab J.B. and stop him from falling. And yet the ground had seemingly given way beneath him, causing him to be dragged in the wake of his stricken friend. For the second time in less than twelve hours he felt that he was plunging to his doom, except that this time there was no one to stop him. Unlike the night before, the others were too far out of reach, being behind the Armorer as he was the first to take the plunge.
As he fell, weightless, in the air it seemed to him that he was falling at an infinitesimally slow rate. He felt as though he slowly turned in the air, away from the swirling and formless shadows below so that he could see the anguished faces of Doc, Mildred, Jak and particularly Krysty as they stared down, helpless. It was almost funny. They looked so ridiculous in that moment when Ryan knew even their pain and longing could no longer help him.
Maybe that was what did it. At that moment, when Ryan gave in to what he saw as his fate, and his inevitable end, it was as though he ceased to fall. He felt as though he was lying on static ground, as though J.B. was lying next to him. He turned his head and could see that the Armorer was level with him. Surely that wasn’t right? Shouldn’t J.B. have fallen first and been beneath him? The expression of bewilderment on his old friend’s face told him that thoughts of a similar nature were crossing the Armorer’s mind.
The others, looming over him, seemed to be closer than they had a moment ago. Too close. And the air, which had been whistling around his ears, now seemed so static and dry. Dusty, almost…
A blinding pain shot across his skull, running from the back of his neck, up and around so that it blinded his only eye, making him shut it tightly to try to stop the agony, which seemed as though it wanted nothing more than to take a physical form and force its way out through the socket.
He screamed.
And when he opened his eye once more, he was bemused to see that the others were, indeed, standing over him and J.B. Only instead of looking down at them, they were looking around.
Without even sitting up, he knew why. The hard-packed dirt was solid beneath him, and he could see from the periphery of his vision that they were on level ground. Level with where they had been before their descent. Raising himself on one elbow, he looked around. To his left, he could see the flat expanse of waste that they had trekked across the previous day. He recognized the scrub and rock they had used as landmarks to count off the miles.
They should be in the crevice.
But it was no longer there.
More than that, to his right, where there had previously been only the flat lands that stretched on the other side of the crevice, there was now a wall of rock that stood about forty yards high, on a steep incline, about three miles away. It was like an inversion of the crevice.
And maybe it was just as real?
“I don’t know what just happened, and to be honest I don’t really give a shit how. The real question is, what can we do about it?”
Ryan turned to the Armorer, who was sitting up, his arms clasped around his knees as he surveyed the territory. The laconic wryness of his tone belied the real urgency of his question.
“Keep going,” Ryan answered simply. “I figure that we really were seeing them in the distance, and when they disappeared it wasn’t down a nonexistent hole. It was behind some kind of wall they could put up mentally. Something that could get inside our heads.”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Doc murmured. “Down the hole and out of sight. Make something grow smaller and then make it grow bigger. Is it really that way or does