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Chapter 17 Cemetery House 

        Simone had not asked enough questions. Everyone knew she had met Tsawb before, and so no one had told her what to expect this time. But Tsawb was not just a sort of vision appearing in the inky blackness of a cave tunnel. Tsawb was materially real. Sometime in the ancient days before even the Sarrs came to the Fold, sometime when all the land belonged to just himself and the Black Vulture, Tsawb had been made guardian of the Door in Crow Wood. He had set himself down not to move again, and very gradually his immense shell had become covered with soil, with grass and plants, and finally with trees. Beneath its surface, Turtle Hill was Tsawb, and the dateless, square-columned temple at the foot of the hill led directly to his enormous head. Tsawb's view of the world was the inner chamber of this temple. Within that sanctum for many centuries he had been fed human sacrifices.

        All Simone had been told, by Razatella and others, was that she should descend the stairs of the outer chamber to a tunnel and the Door. But she never could leave well enough alone. She decided to explore the temple first, and this soon brought her to the sanctum. This windowless room was large, torchlit, and colorless; and in the center stood what obviously was the altar of sacrifice, a rectangular slab with horns at the four corners for tying the victim in place. Beyond this was a shadowy cavern in the far wall, the upper edge of which was the edge of Tsawb's shell. With a start she realized that she could just make out the shape of Tsawb's head within. Then his head, large as a room, glided forward on folds of neck until his nose almost touched the altar, and one red eye turned toward her.

        "You!" he groaned, and this time the voice was real, not just an illusion in her mind. Simone hastily stepped back into the doorway, gripping the stone frame. "You are one of my three deadly enemies, those three who have passed my Door to the wrong sides and still live. Come closer!"

        Simone did not feel the mind control that he had somehow exercised over her the first time. She stayed where she was and waved a silly, somewhat mocking greeting.

        "Hi ya, Tsawb. Had a rough autumn?"

        "You should not be alive," he said. "You and your brother should have perished under Lucilla where I sent you. There is no way out of that maze of tunnels."

        "You're behind the times," Simone said. "Maybe there was no way out, but there is now. For skinny people."

        "Come closer. Where are my priests? Bring her to me."

        "I ordered them sent away," said Simone, venturing a step or two into the room, "just for a little while."

        "Why!"

        "Because I didn't care to see the inside of your smelly gullet, that's why."

        Now the earth shook and dust poured down from the roof. "I have not received the sacrifices due to me, and you are responsible. Bring back my priests and sacrifices at once, for if I move again, it will be to rise and conquer. Then all in the Fold will die."

        "I doubt that," said Simone matter-of-factly. "If that was possible, you would have done it a long time ago to better protect your precious Door. Now here's the deal, Shellshock. My brother Clay is dead. That leaves you just two 'great enemies.' I'm going back home to my world, so that leaves just one. As for the witch who's on the other side, I'll find her there if I can and send her packing back to you. So then your record will be perfect again, and you can start re-swelling your ego. Agreed? I said, agreed?" She drew her knife. "Or would you rather try going through life with just one eye?"
 

        Sarah Overby had just gotten back from church and was watching 'Beakman's World' with her little brother, when the phone rang.

        "Will you accept a collect call from Simone Gareth?"

        "Simone? Yes!"

        Her heart pumping, she waited to find out if this was a practical joke.

        "Hi, Sarah."

        "Simone, it's really you! Where have you been? Are you all right?"

        "I'm fine. I'm at the convenience store just south of Mullin's Cave."

        "Are you all right? We thought you and Clay were dead."

        "Look, let's not talk yet. Can you come pick me up?"

        "I can come," said Sarah, picking up her purse.

        "I'm going to be dressed kind of weird. People are staring at me, so hurry. And don't tell anyone yet. I'll explain later." She hung up.

        Sarah turned to her brother who was laughing uproariously at the antics of Lester the Rat.

        "Did you catch that, Randy?"

        "What?"

        "Never mind."

        When Sarah pulled up in the convenience store lot, Simone jumped into the car and slammed the door. "Drive, Sarah, I'm sick of being gawked at."

        "Good grief, you look like something out of the Middle Ages," said Sarah as she turned the Taurus around. "Where have you been?"

        "You wouldn't believe me."

        "What's that?"

        Simone was putting her nevel in the back seat. "Nothing. Is my Mom OK?"

        "She's fine except she's been out of her mind. Where did you go?"

        "OK, I'm going to tell you," Simone said. "But no one else. I went to that other country where they speak Kreenspam and Gellene, that place you never really believed in."

        Sarah bit her lower lip and drove faster. "Actually, I almost do believe you now. I mean, I wouldn't if not for Gelen."

        "Who's that?" asked Simone, feeling uneasy at hearing a name common in the Fold.

        "Your Mom took on a foster kid last month, a sixteen year old named Gelen--like Helen with a 'g.' Don't ask me. Anyway, she's a foreigner and nobody knows where she came from. They couldn't even figure out where to deport her to, and nobody could understand her language. Not a word of English, you understand, except 'Viola.' Hey, let go my arm, I've got to steer."

        "Was she dressed funny when they found her?" Simone pressed.

        "I don't know, I think she was. But I'm coming to the spooky part. She was gabbing that talk of hers one day when I was over seeing your Mom, and it suddenly hit me that I understood her. She talks Gellene."

        Simone muttered something like a swear word.

        "And she says the most vicious, horrible things to people--smiling, you know--and thinks no one can understand her. Well, she said something to me I don't even want to repeat, and when I answered her back in Gellene, you should have seen her eyes pop. I tried to tell your mother, but she won't believe me. She thinks Gelen is an angel."

        "Why did she take her in? Why her?" Simone asked.

        "She suspected that Gelen knows something about you and Clay disappearing."

        "Mom's that bright, is she?"

        "Well, it didn't take genius. The same night you disappeared Gelen was pulled over by the police when she was trying to drive your Mom's Dart. It must have happened right along this stretch we're on now."

        "I must have left the keys in the car! Did I?"

        "I guess. Anyway, your mom wanted answers about her, and about all the strange reports that night you disappeared. They said on the news that some farmer met werewolves in his field that evening, and other people said that they were almost carjacked by invisible men. Some kids sneaked into Mullins Cave, too, and judging from the tracks, brought big dogs with them. Then two days later somebody found a couple of corpses just off the highway south of here, along with some weird Satanic stuff. All this at once, and the police never solved any of it. But your mom thought Gelen must know something. The lady who places foster kids is a friend of your mom's, and so she pulled some strings to get her Gelen. Not that it did any good. Say, where's Clay?"

        Simone answered evasively. "He went to the same place with me, but he hasn't come back. So what's this Gelen say for herself? Has she learned any English?"

        "More than she lets on. She supposedly doesn't know anything about you. She's always dodging questions by pretending to not understand. We're talking scum here."

        "Tell me about it. She's even worse than you think."

        "So where are we going?"

        "Take me straight home," said Simone.

        Susan Tanner was not warmly emotional about her daughter's return. Hands on her hips, she stood in the kitchen and yelled up at Simone for what seemed a good fifteen minutes, only taking a breath now and then out of necessity. Sarah quickly retreated to another part of the house and called her parents, leaving Simone to take it. Halfway through the harangue, a plump and ugly girl showed up in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, her expression at first curious, then wary. She was wearing blue jeans and one of Simone's flannel shirts.

        Susan wound down, still dry eyed. "And now when you finally show up, you have Sarah pick you up instead of me! Why didn't you call? What's wrong with you?" She paused and coughed. "Where's Clay?"

        "He didn't come back with me. Excuse me, Mom, I've got to go change clothes." She pushed by Gelen with a glare and went to her room.

        Her mother followed her and watched with amazement as she took off rough and ragged clothing not found in any catalog in the world. Underneath were odd, excessively modest undergarments. When Susan caught sight of Simone's bare upper arm, she hissed in breath sharply.

        "What happened to you?"

        Simone looked where Susan was pointing.

        "It's just a scar, Mom."

        "It looks terrible. What happened?"

        Simone sat on the bed with a sigh. "I was in another country, and it's a violent place."

        "You went to Mexico? What did they do to you?"

        "Nothing! I mean, this was the worst of it, anyway. I did more back to them."

        Her mother touched her arm gently. "This hasn't had proper attention, no stitches."

        "Yeah, that's why it healed so ugly. They don't do stitches there."

        "Of course they do in Mexico."

        "I didn't say I was in Mexico, Mom." Simone went to the closet. "What's all this? These aren't my things."

        "No they're Gelen's." She let that sink in. "I thought you were never coming back." Susan did not seem to know which way to look. "I'll go up to the attic and get your clothes. Gelen can move into Clay's room."

        She went up at once, leaving Simone seemingly to herself, until she noticed the ghost-like Gelen watching her from the hallway. With no hesitation, Simone strode up to the witch girl and slapped her in the face so hard that she almost knocked her down. Instantly awash with tears, Gelen cringed against the wall.

        "Try to hurt my mother," Simone said to her in Gellene, "and I'll kill you."

        Gelen began to make noise, half moan and half scream.

        "You know I mean it. I don't care what happens to me, you die. Now get out of the house. You're going back to the Fold."

        With an armload of clothes, Susan came running to the sound of Gelen's screams and paused to size up the situation, her thin, straight mouth working noiselessly. Sarah appeared at the other end of the hall. "Momma," Gelen whined in a thick accent, "she hurt me, she hit me."

        "Simone?"

        "She's a member of a Satanic cult, Mom. She'd as soon kill you as look at you. I told her to get out of the house."

        Gelen retreated behind Susan. "She evil, bad. Hurt me, I no hurt her."

        "Gelen is my daughter now, Simone--your sister. You can't hit her. How could you?"

        Simone took the clothes. "I told you. She'll try to kill us, you and me."

        "That's ridiculous. Why would she do that?"

        "It's a long story."

        "Well, it can wait till after supper, then. I'll put some leftover turkey in the microwave. You come talk to me in the kitchen when you're dressed."

        Her mother had taken charge, or imagined she had, and that to her mind was more important than finding out the truth about either of her daughters. When Simone did not come to the kitchen immediately, Susan simply went on with meal preparation, setting a place for Sarah, and called the girls when all was ready. The four ate in silence for some time.

        Susan looked up sharply at Simone, decided not to ask about the scar on her cheek, and instead said, "When is Clay coming back from this country that isn't Mexico?"

        Simone set her fork on the table very deliberately. "Mom, I'm sorry. Clay won't ever be coming back. He died."

        Susan struggled with her facial expression and ended by almost smiling. "No he didn't. How? Where?"

        "I don't know where. Somewhere in the country we went to."

        "Then how do you know? Tell me."

        "Someone told me, Mom."

        "And you believed it? Without finding out for yourself?"

        Simone stared blankly.

        "You go and get him," Susan demanded. "You know where to find him, so bring him here."

        Suddenly it was too much for Simone. She looked to Sarah, who was embarrassedly studying the near edge of the table top; then to Gelen, whose left cheek still glowed pink. Gelen smiled broadly with a twinkle in her eye.

        "Ei koir," she said sweetly to Simone. "Koir adelpha. Ozeis."

        (You're a pig. Pig sister. You stink.)

        Simone got up quickly. "I'm going for a walk. C'mon, Sarah, let's go."

        She led Sarah into the cemetery, which was already dark at this time of year. As they walked, the monuments and crosses reminded Simone that she had not prayed, except in scraps, since before the battle in Trans-Titan.

        "Simone," said Sarah, "if I'd been gone for four months, my parents would have told me off just like your Mom did, but they would have cried and hugged me too. They would have talked about their broken hearts and all that. What is it with your mother?"

        Simone had no ready answer. "We got counseling once," she said, "as a family. It didn't seem to help, and we quit because it cost too much. We're dysfunctional."

        Sarah left it at that. "And that Gelen, isn't she just as bad as I said? Wait a minute, does she really belong to a Satanic cult?"

        "Yeah, she really does."

        "I'm glad, because I want to think the worst of her. Maybe the others will come around and sacrifice her." They walked on. "Stop a minute, Simone, there's something I have to tell you, and I can't put it off any longer."

        They sat down on adjoining stones, and Simone steeled herself for another blow of some sort.

        "OK, Sarah, tell me."

        Sarah clasped her hands together and chuckled. "Get this. Carl Besanto has broken up with Dawn Carter. Just last month. This is your chance, Simone. You know how much he liked you last spring. You should call him tomorrow and--what are you laughing at?"

        "You, Underby. I'm not calling Carl Besanto."

        "Why not?"

        "Because."

        "Because what?"

        "Because I'm engaged."

        "Engaged," Sarah echoed in a sickly voice. "Come on, Simone. What, really? Who is it?"

        "A guy in that country."

        "Oh." Sarah wanted to avoid discussing the country that was not Mexico. "Well, uh, congratulations."

        "Don't bother, we're not exactly picking out a silver pattern yet. I'll probably never see him again. I don't even know if he's alive."

        Sarah thought about that. "Just like Clay," she said. "I always thought you both would come back. Are you absolutely sure he's dead? How do you know?"

    "It's hard to explain," said Simone. "I was in a battle in a war. That was, uh, weeks ago, on October thirtieth. One of the prisoners we took told me about Clay the next day. She was a beautiful girl who had been forced to marry when she was fourteen, and then her husband died and so she was a rich widow. Then she somehow got dragged along to the battle. Anyway, she had heard from someone else that Clay died."

        "But that's third hand, Simone. Maybe she got it mixed up."

        "I don't think so. She was a pretty cool customer. Super competent. The kind who gives you awful news like that and then--well, I told her she would go free, and she gives me this gleeful look and says, 'This is my day.' People like that don't get confused; they're on top of things. Did I mention that she's rich?"

        "Did she really say that?"

        "What? That she's rich?"

        "No, that it was her day."

        "Sure she did, so what?"

        "Nothing. Funny thing to say on Halloween."

Chapter 18 The Trunk Fire 

        Sarah looked up. "Wooo! Look at the stars tonight."

        Although preoccupied by Sarah's last statement, Simone did look. Orion was striding up over the bare treetops, looking warlike and hopeful.

        "Don't say anything for a minute, Sarah, I've got to think." She jumped up. "Let's walk to the Barger monument, OK? I think better when I'm moving."

        The girls started off, going silently among the stones.

        Yes, a funny thing to say on Halloween. Simone had never considered the day. With sudden suspicion she began to rehearse in her mind everything she could remember of what Metuza had told her. In retrospect it all seemed questionable. What were the odds, in the first place, of meeting someone with news of Clay? He had supposedly died in obscurity on the other side of the continent, and yet by an amazing double coincidence, Metuza both knew of it and had met Simone. Too amazing to be believed.

        Furthermore, would the wealthy, elevated Zeezur family have admitted a beggar-adventurer to their house, allowing him to stay the night? Why? And if this Peter had wanted Metuza to go away with him, why would he have told her the ugly truth about his background? Did Peter even exist?

        If he did, he had supposedly gained information from Clay to use in his role as a Pretender. What information? Metuza had said nothing about Peter claiming to be a descendant of Lila come from the Old World; she had even been surprised when Simone had asked whether Peter had been born in the Fold. Yet making a claim to be from the Old World was surely the most important thing Clay could have told him.

        In addition to all this, the original objections to Metuza remained: that, however young, she had married into the Fold's chief family of witches and had been a traveling companion to the Smoke Hag. Finally, she had called Halloween her day, while giving Simone that oddly familiar look.

        They had reached the same columned monument on which, in July, Simone and Clay had come close to being sacrificed. Simone stood on the steps and looked it over.

        "Have you finished thinking yet?" asked Sarah, who was getting impatient in the cold.

        "Just about."

        The only question was how Metuza knew Clay's name, approximate age, and hair color. Could she have met him?

        "What are you thinking about?"

        "I think, Sarah, that the person who told me Clay's dead is a liar and a witch."

        "What have witches got to do with you and Clay?" Sarah sat down by a pillar, hugging herself.

        "Everything. Two of them were here, I mean right here at this monument, on the night Clay and I left."

        "Wow! What were they like?"

        "You would have liked the looks of one of them; he was definitely your type. A handsome devil with dark eyes and thick eyebrows and...."

        "And what?"

S        imone held up a hand that signaled Sarah to give her a moment. In her mind's eye she saw Ven Magus grinning in the light of two candles, his eyebrows knit together. That was it!--the very same expression as Metuza. Magus was just a title, but Simone could now guess Ven's last name. Ven Zeezur and his sister Metuza had the same eyebrows, the same smile!

        Suddenly, Simone started dancing around under the stars, waving her jacket clad arms. Sarah laughed and began to dance too.

        "What are you doing?"

        Simone circled as elegantly as she could. "I'm dancing a filsle, I'm a Lusetta. Wave your arms, Sarah."

        Sarah waved her arms. As they whirled in the dead leaves, exuding visible breath, Simone began to sing in Gellene.

                In the village of Ruin, by the riverside,

                Where the Loopers dance and the rowboats glide,

                And the yokels bark and the puppies play,

                I lived for a year--or was it a day?

        Sarah understood most of this. "Why are you singing?"

        "Because of a resurrection. Clay just got resurrected! The girl who told me he's dead had every reason to--to...." She stopped dancing. "Angfetu!"

        Sarah only knew that this meant 'remembered.' "What did you remember?" she asked.

        "It's a name, the name of a friend of mine who died just after being visited by this witch I've been talking about. They didn't find a mark on him, but she must have murdered him somehow to keep him from proving her a liar. Oh, to have my hands around her neck!"

        Simone grabbed Sarah by the arm and started back toward Cemetery House. "Mom said I should get Clay back, and I'm going to. Would you give me a lift tomorrow back down to that convenience store?"

        "Simone! Your Mom will kill you if you leave again. But sure I will. I go back to college tomorrow, but I can run you down first thing."

        At her back door Simone made a few more plans with Sarah and then watched her drive away, going to the nearby development where her family's new home was. A real home. Hesitating in the darkness, Simone found that she did not want to go in. Her home was anywhere and nowhere, but not here. Her home was--and was not--in Ruin village and the Palace of Reflections; on the Mountain Track or at a khan in Trans-Titan; even in the cemetery--but not in this house.

        Her mother had believed Gelen, and not her. That was exactly what she should have expected. Susan Tanner had always been insensitive and stubborn, quick to reach wrong conclusions and almost invincible in holding to them. Now she loved Gelen. Simone felt hit by a force that drained and defeated her. What had she been blathering about in the cemetery just now? Would she go get Clay in order to please her mother? This mother? Why? And how would she get Clay, anyway? She would have to pass Tsawb again, this time going the wrong way. Impossible. Then she would have to search a whole continent, all the time wondering if Clay was really alive after all. Metuza's lying did not prove that Clay was alive.

        She sank down on the back step and stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets. Faintly from the kitchen she could hear the voices of her mother and Gelen, her ghastly family. No one to go home to.

        She jumped up and strode back toward the cemetery. Another girl would have had to pick her way carefully, but after years of exploration at all hours, Simone might have passed through it blindfolded and never have been injured or lost. Here she had never been frightened or ill at ease. Rather, the sense of so many departed souls was comfortable and reassuring. They at least were fixed forever; this at least would not change. Nothing is written in stone, her mother was fond of saying, but here everything was quite literally written in stone. Birth and death dates everywhere: infants, youths, adults; soldiers, philanthropists, paupers, cripples; believers and atheists. All safely tucked away for eternity. That was something anyway, and no small thing.

        The townspeople might see this place as peripheral and unimportant, but then so probably had these sleepers seen it. Simone felt a kinship with the unseen hand that gathered them here so patiently, so quietly. She hoped that hand would be gentle with her when her time came. Gentler, she hoped, than her own hand had been with Gelen.

        She had come to one of the plainer areas of Greenlawn. No statues or obelisks or above ground crypts here, just medium stones. The sort of area she had often passed through on the way to somewhere else, somewhere more interesting. Now she paused and avoided asking herself the question--but the Question asked her--where she was going. She felt she must give some answer, so she said, "I just left home, and I'm going off by myself."

        Simone, the Questioner told her, I am your home-fire. I claimed you on the southern plains beneath the stars.

        This sounded reasonable to Simone. "I remember," she said. "But I haven't been so sure of You lately. Everything fell apart back there in the Fold. You had big plans for me, but I blew it. I never even made it to Eschor, let alone made peace there. Well, You must have known from the start that I'm not the empress type."

        I knew. But My plans are deeper than those of My enemies. They were all fooled by you, My little soldier. You won the battle for Me.

        "You mean the Battle of the--the battle in Trans-Titan?" Even as Simone asked the question, she knew that was not what was meant. Some greater battle had been won, of the sort that is impossible to write about in history books. Razatella had said that the whole Fold would be singing the Parting Song; not just in Trans-Titan, but in Eschor--no doubt against the edicts of Solomon--and in Tirasite lands, and far away in the Silent Cities. Not just humans either, but Sarrs, Sarrs in the Forest of Darkness, of course, and in Argura; but also in the mountains, and in Dragonland, and on the Pons.

        The Fold felt different now to everyone who lived in it. When the trumpet call had sounded in the darkness, it did not matter that the trumpeter was 'not the empress type.' Hearts had responded anyway. Nothing seemed so sweet to them now as the hope of a golden era of peace and unselfishness. So the great chess game had begun, as Mald had described it, and the crumblies of Farja--Monophthalmos and the Smoke Hag--had lost the opening.

        Simone was as shyly pleased as a little girl whose father has called her beautiful. He had said 'My little soldier.'

        "I know what battle you mean," she said. "But what will become of the Fold when I don't return?"

        Go back, daughter. Look for your brother.

        That was all, or seemed all. But as she turned back toward Cemetery House, Simone saw what appeared to be a fire in the midst of the cemetery. She approached curiously. Between her and Cemetery House was a very large oak with its trunk improbably burning, and not just burning but blazing through and through. As she came nearer, she saw the wood of it was like glowing coal with shimmering highlights passing up and down. Its great branches were lit from beneath, and the nearby stones and crosses reflected the fire in their marble surfaces.

        Simone had an urge perhaps akin to that of people on high buildings who feel tempted to jump. She wanted to walk into the fire. Perhaps this was partly because she felt it was another of the visions she had experienced lately: no tree ever burned like that. Yet if the fire was a vision, the tree certainly was not. She knew that tree. If she tried to walk into it, she risked knocking herself silly. And what if the fire did burn?

        Simone paced around, thinking it over. She had absolutely no place to live, that was a fact. Her life did not seem worth two cents. Unless, that is, Ulrumman--or whatever He was calling Himself now--unless He could be trusted. He was calling her again, calling her toward the burning oak. Very well, she would test Him. Was she His daughter, as He said? Then let Him prove it.

        Suddenly, she stopped pacing and strode at a fast clip toward the burning tree. Her hands clenched and her back stiffened. She could barely look at it now for its brightness, just feet away; she could feel and smell the fire.

        "Goodby world!" she yelled, and walked through the tree. She found herself walking just as quickly as she burst out the other side, the flame clinging to her. She felt no pain, but from her hair to her shoes she was dripping fire, and on she went in the darkness like a human comet.

        She looked down at her hands, now outlined by flame, at her feet leaving burning prints, and she began chanting happily, "A lamlef ba pris dalem et ba sandal, O nema prilem!" How beautiful indeed were her feet, whether in sandals or tennis shoes, she a Prince's daughter!

        In an effort to return to normalcy, Susan Tanner had spread out on the dining room table the papers and books she was studying for her Ph.D candidacy. She did not look up when Simone entered the room.

        "I'm back, Mom. Hope I wasn't gone too long."

        "Not too long," Susan said. "I called your father. He wants to see you, and--he--" She looked up. "What happened to you?"

        "Nothing. Why, do I look different?"

        Susan studied her closely and at last answered, "No. No different. I just felt something."

        "You felt something had changed?"

        "Yes." Susan did not like to show her curiosity.

        It had been years since Simone had given her mother a straight report about anything that mattered. She felt that her mother was a safer and happier person when kept ignorant; and it was much less trouble. But Simone was presently in an exalted mood and so plunged ahead.

        "You want to know what happened? I just met God by walking through the trunk of a tree."

        Her mother looked so weary and vulnerable sitting there. "Did you?" she said resignedly. "And what was He like?"

        Simone bent down and kissed her on the hairline. "Totally loving, Mom. Awesome. Say, where's Gelen?"

        "In the front room. You aren't going to bother her any more?"

        "Of course not. Don't worry."

        Simone crossed the house and found Gelen sitting in front of the TV, watching 'I Dream of Jeannie.' Raising a hand to her cheek, the girl cringed away from Simone.

        "Relax," said Simone in Gellene. "I just want to apologize. I guess if you had wanted to hurt Mom, you could have murdered her in her bed weeks ago. I was wrong. You must like it here, that's why you haven't caused any trouble and why you haven't tried to go back. I suppose that maybe this is the safest place you've ever been? When I hit you, I got the impression that you're pretty much used to being beaten. Hm?"

        Gelen said nothing, only watched her with frightened, cunning eyes.

        "Anyway, I'm sorry, and it won't happen again. You're right, I am a pig sister."

        Simone left Gelen and went to her room where she slept the sleep of the just.

        The next morning Simone's mother went to the university, dropping off Gelen at school on the way. Soon after they left, Sarah picked up Simone and drove her down to the convenience store.

        "Where do you go from here?" Sarah asked as Simone prepared to get out of the car.

        "I think it's better you not know," Simone said. "Mom and I had another argument this morning, and she's threatening to call in the police. I guess she thinks they'll interrogate me with bright lights in my face to find out where I've been and where Clay is. Anyway, I don't want you involved in any of that."

        "Does she even know you're going?"

        "She will whenever she gets home. I left a note. Say, can I borrow a few bucks? I lost all my American money where I was."

        "Well, I don't have much," said Sarah, rummaging through her purse.

        "That's fine, five will do. Thanks, you're a great friend." Simone paused, sensing some concern of Sarah's. "Well, what?"

        "Only--since you're engaged, you definitely won't be interested in Carl Besanto anymore, right?"

        Simone laughed and patted her on the shoulder. "He's yours, go for it. Oh, and my nevel's still in your back seat. Just keep it for me till I get back. That way Gelen won't have a chance to break it."

        "Sure."

        "Thanks for everything, Sar'. See you whenever."

        The Mullins Cave tour fee was five dollars. Simone pretended to sign the register and then hung back behind the class of fourth graders who were visiting. When guide and all had turned a corner, she ducked under the rail and swung off the wooden walkway. As quickly as she could, she made her way to the far wall and the pit in the floor. She climbed in and peeked over the edge to make sure that no one had seen her. Pulling out her flashlight, she removed her thick coat and paused for one last prayer. Then she began to climb into the narrow opening at the bottom of the pit, pulling her coat after her.

        Soon she stood again in the small cave room with the unsolid black wall. She played for a minute at seeing how far she could shine her flashlight into the veil. Not very far. Then she walked through, and at once the same impressions as before returned: infinite space all around, solid ground underfoot. Even sooner than before she encountered Tsawb's smell, like a hundred wooden ships rotting on a wharf, and heard his breathing. He drew near in the vision form that made him look even vaster than in reality.

        "You--have--not--brought--the witch!"

        Though aware of the same physical paralysis as before, Simone answered as nonchalantly as she could. "No, Tsawb, it didn't work out. The Queen Mother wouldn't give permission."

        "You should have killed them both, rather than displease me. If you've failed, then why did you return, vermin?"

        "Now that's enough of that!" Simone flared. "Who are you anyway? A glorified doorkeeper. But I'm a Lila-me, traveling under the guidance of Ulrumman. Why do you think this Door exists? To keep closed all the time? That makes no sense. No, it's here because Ulrumman wants a few to be allowed through, and I'm one of them. I've got authority, Shellshock."

        "Not over me," Tsawb thought toward her.

        "Who put you here in the first place?"

        "The Guardian," he answered.

        This was puzzling, but Simone pushed on. "Well, bring him here. If he changes your orders, you'll have to let me through."

        "No."

        "What do you mean, no?"

        "No!" Tsawb was very angry now. "That is what she said, the Fijata who was first to break my law, she--

        "Whose law!" Simone snorted in the midst of this, but Tsawb did not hear her.

        "--she spoke of the Guardian. But I drove him away ages ago because I would not obey any living being. Are you then the Empress? I care nothing for that. Since long before Quintus came, I am my own law."

        Simone considered. "Look, I could make you a little speech about how stupid you're being, but let's get to the point. You said last summer that Razabera broke through your Door, and she didn't even outrank you like I do. So how did she do it? Because Ulrumman sent her, that's how. Now if you don't let me by, I'm breaking through!"

        She concentrated all her energy on her right leg, trying to move it forward an inch. It did not move at first, but the same fire that had glowed around her the previous evening began to return, beginning at her right foot and spreading up her body.

        Tsawb abruptly drew in his head and legs. "The light of Karasis! Not again! But you won't succeed as the Fijata did. Remember, Empress, that I wait for you on the other side of the Door. If you pass through, I'll rise and devour you."

        Simone could move again. She drew her knife and, rushing straight at the vision, saw him disappear. In his place was another black veil-wall. She plunged through, wondering if she would find herself in Tsawb's temple or under Lucilla.

        It was Tsawb's temple. Putting away her knife, she noticed that the fire glow was already fading from around her.

Chapter 19 Hazot Tower  

Simone was in the same little passage by which she had entered Indiana the day before. As she dashed up the stone stairs and toward the front doors, the whole building trembled. Reaching the porch, she saw human priests and Ulrig soldiers fleeing in every direction while Tsawb bellowed and the earth shook.

She streched out her long legs and ran down the road, gasping in the cold air, while behind her the temple simply shattered, its pillars falling, its roof rising. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw Turtle Hill rising in the air, while on it sides trees twisted and turned and tons of rocks and soil poured off. Some of Tsawb's shell began to appear, and his head poked out above the temple ruins, his red eyes wild, searching.

She ran faster, dimly aware of black specks in the sky--large birds, hundreds of them. Were they coming toward her? Vultures perhaps? Tsawb was moving now, every step a little faster, and every step covering many yards. She could not possibly outrun him. Had he seen her?

The birds were closer, huge things flying like bats and dropping lower, coming straight at her. Simone began to scream as she ran, faltered, ran again. What were these things? Were they worse than Tsawb? They had weapons! Unmistakably, they carried swords, maces, and spears in human-like hands beneath their wings. Some began to land around her, closing up their bat wings and advancing on bony, crooked legs. Others flew on toward Tsawb and began to attack his exposed head and legs, driving their spears into his flesh. The turtle sank to his stomach, pulling into his shell for defense, stopping not a hundred yards from where Simone stood trembling. Yes, he had definitely seen her.

She turned and found herself face to face with a monster: great upright ears, tiny eyes, fangs, flat nose. It was dark gray with the limbs of some deformed demon, its folded wings extending upward behind rounded shoulders. In its long furry hand it carried a sword. As it looked at her with an expression of hideous satisfaction, many others approached from every side. Simone wished she could faint. Instead, she stood swaying, trying to get air, and fumbled in her coat to find her knife. All she pulled out was her flashlight. She put it away in her pocket again and started crying.

The thing in front of her spoke to her in Kreenspam. "Are you the Princess Simone that the Ulrigs speak of?"

Simone gurgled yes.

He bowed. "I'm Bremset the Vult, captain of our eastern host. We arrived just this morning, only to learn that you had disappeared through the Door of Kulismos that lies hidden here. We were ready to leave and continue our exploration of these lands, when we felt the ground shake and saw you running from the temple. May I and my fellows be of some further help to you?"

Bremset led her to an abandoned hut farther down the road and helped her to a rude chair in the shadows. He hastily made a fire in the stone stove. "Great Princess," he said, as he turned from the glowing flame, "it's difficult for us to keep the mighty Tsawb from moving, so it's best for us to bear you away from here. Where do you wish to go?"

"To my brother," she said. "I'm looking for him."

Bremset chattered something high pitched until his whole frame shook. "The Emperor! No destination could please us more. Six weeks ago he called us from our four hundred year sleep. How exhilirating it was to leave the Vultlag, to stretch our wings, to fly!"

"What's his name, what's he look like?" Simone slurred, almost unwilling to ask again after so many disappointments.

"That we don't know--yet. It takes several days for Vults to fully awake, and in the meantime he traveled on, leaving us. But we've sent out scouts everywhere and now have some clue to his whereabouts. Far away to the northeast is the Ebbil Kiree, greatest of islands. On the coast nearby, the Silbs and humans of the Broken Realm are mustering arms to support a Pretender. Silbs are seldom mistaken about such things, Princess Simone. He'll be the genuine Emperor. We will take you there."

"How far?" she asked.

"Skree! Too far to walk. I've sent a few of my people to fetch a stout fishing net from the Gulf of Saldar. Long ago we used such means to bear wingless folk through the air. If many of us grasp the corners, and you in the middle, we can fly you to your brother in a few days. Nothing could be easier."

He turned back to tend the fire, and Simone was startled again by his repulsive face as it was lit from below. She cringed back into her chair and looked away.

"Great Lady, can you tell us why we were called from our sleep? The Ulrigs can only guess that we were summoned to prevent Tsawb from causing great destruction. But you're the Emperor's sister, you know him. Why did he wake us? Isn't there some greater purpose?"

She forced herself to look at him. "Yes," she said weakly, "the Emperor and I want to prevent terrible wars from spreading across the continent. But it's not easy for us to stay in the Fold and try to do that. We're just young people and our home is in another world. We need some way to keep the Dragons in line while we go home and settle some matters. Can you help with that?"

"Dragons," said Bremset meditatively, while stroking his sloping brow. "That's asking a lot to control them." He grinned like a gargoyle. "But yeee! we Vults can do it. I would have been disappointed if you'd asked something too easy. I'll put some of our boys to work on it, and we'll come up with an answer. It may have to involve some subtlety, some trickery. They're very big, you know."

She nodded. "You're really very good to me."

"Thank you, Princess. Now I'll leave you to rest. I've some directions for the others of our troop."

She nodded him out the door and then hugged herself, shuddering. "I'd almost rather have been eaten by Tsawb," she said to herself. "I thought I loved all Sarrs, but not Vults. Oh, they're creepy!"

Time did not endear her to them. By the next morning she had experienced their unfailing politeness, their energetic efforts to please, and what seemed to be genuine affection. She appreciated the trouble they were about to go to as they prepared to sleep at night and transport her by day, reversing their usual habits merely for her comfort. Yet while doing her best to hide it, Simone still loathed the sight of them. By sheer determination she made herself cooperate with their plan to carry her through the air.

Meanwhile the Vults found it necessary to maintain an around the clock guard on Tsawb, who shifted nearer to Simone's hut in spite of all their efforts. It was clearly time to be off.

A net had been fetched during the night, and now Simone was to be transported through the late autumn cold. She thought the ropes of the net looked all too thin as it lay spread out in the frost in a clearing not far from the temple. By this time a few Ulrigs had curiously returned and, after providing many blankets in which Simone submitted to be wrapped, stood by to watch the take-off. Simone lay in the middle of the net as dozens of Vults took their places in a great circle around her, each holding a rope tied to the net's circumference.

Bremset hobbled over for a last word with her. "We'll set you down every few hours, Princess. At night we'll find places for you to sleep. By changing rope-holders regularly, we'll speed you on your way. Is there anything more you need before we fly?"

"No, let's get going," Simone said, her heart racing. She had never even been on an airplane.

"Very good, Princess." Bremset walked out to the edge of the net and gripped one of the rope ends himself.

"Yeee!" he cried, and all the Vults answered with loud chatterings as they spread out their leathery wings. They rose together hovering, and the ropes began to stretch and tauten. Higher and higher they went, and still Simone lay firmly on the ground. Then suddenly she was plucked from the earth like a feather in the wind, and her ride began.

Simone pulled her hood up and the blanket edges down to protect herself from the wind, but left herself a small viewing space through which to watch the approach of the nearby mountains. Once called the Mountains of Bourasnia, now merely the Northern Spur, they were covered with snow in late November. Followed by thousands of other Vults, the net bearers steered toward a high pass.

As hours passed and fresh Vults continually took their turn at the ropes, Simone was sped out of the Valley of Thunders. Below all was white except for the occasional stony cliff or outcrop and, once, the broken towers of an abandoned fortress in the saddle of the pass. On the far side, the Vults landed her gently for a short rest, and then they were off again over the eastern plain with its own light dusting of snow, which the sun now broke on blindingly. Here were no villages, only scattered farms. Simone was guiltily amused to see the little figures of the farmers as they first looked up and then scurried for cover.

But the flight lengthened and, unable to sleep, Simone began to feel lonely and troubled. She had never been comfortable with her own unoccupied company, preferring activity. Now against her will she tormented herself with worries about Clay and Athlaz. She also wondered if she had been rash to put herself in the power of the Vults. At some point she realized that she detested them partly because they resembled the Fijat Killer that had killed Raspberry. That was all. And she told herself that, if evil thoughts were expressed in one's outward appearance, then she would sometimes look more hideous than any Vult. Nevertheless, it was a worry, and during rest stops her flesh still crawled whenever a Vult came near.

At dusk of the short day she looked down on another fortress-ruin, this one perched on a cliff overlooking the bend of a great river. Even in ruin its chief tower was unbelievably massive. Its lower stories were intact, their windows showing signs of light and movement within. She heard the cry of command from ahead and felt the net begin to drop.

Vuzbal the Vult, bard of the Northern Titans, sat in the ruined tower of ancient Hazot fortress, overlooking the Frear River, and worried. Not that Captain Bremset's plan was not proceeding splendidly. The rope bearers had relieved one another at proper intervals, the Princess had been carried as on a cloud, and he and the rest of the advance guard had prepared a warm, dry room for her here in the ruin. Human food had been fetched, and a guard had even brought in a small dog in the firm belief that humans like dogs as pets.

Ah, but the Princess herself, what a terror! Upon her arrival she had argued loudly about trifles, complained about everything, questioned Captain Bremset's intelligence, and come close to kicking the dog. Now she was out on the plain somewhere, 'taking a walk,' as she put it; avoiding their company. The Princess was a problem.

Across the stone-walled room Captain Bremset was supervising the blocking up of a narrow window against the cold. His large ears twitched from time to time, a sure sign that he was unnerved. Soon he approached Vuzbal.

"We have a few fellows shadowing her, bard. No doubt, she'll come back in a few minutes. She just needs to stretch her legs after being wrapped up all day."

"I think I've identified the real problem, sir," Vuzbal said. Bremset's tiny eyes blinked and his ears twitched again.

"What is it? It's that dog, isn't it? I've had them take it back to wherever they found it. How were we to know humans don't like them?"

"Sir, I don't mean the dog. I think the Princess is afraid of us."

"Afraid? Why?"

"Well, you know we've been told that we look every bit as ugly to them as they do to us. And I've noticed that she won't let any of us come near her, let alone touch her."

"That's irrational." Bremset swayed over to the fire burning in a portable brazier and warmed his forelimbs. "But, looo, we can handle irrationality. A small problem, really. Work out a solution, Vuzbal."

Vuzbal picked up his flute. "I may have one, sir. May I borrow a score of the lads roosting below?"

"Use your initiative, bard. We can't be having our faces spoil the digestion of the great Simone."

"Thank you, Captain."

Vuzbal took his Vults across the courtyard, which was half full of fallen stones and broken columns, all the way to the guard house at the doorless main gate. The house was shattered and unroofed, but the wind was calm enough for some comfort to be had even behind its porous walls.

He addressed the others. "It's a cold night for singing, friends, but we have a Princess who needs called in from the dark. Sharbal and Hagel, out with your flutes and join me. The rest of you sing. We'll start with her Parting Song, eh?"

As he played the first notes, their reedy voices began to blend and harmonize as they had done on nights centuries before. The lovely, haunting song drifted far over the white plain. But when they were done, the Princess had not appeared at the ruined gate. Someone suggested a song that had been spreading through the Fold almost as quickly as the first, a song about the Loopers and said to have been written by Simone herself. As they sang of the Village of Ruin, a few hopped about at the center of their circle in a jerky dance. Still no Princess.

Vuzbal led them into the Song of Sleeping, which had been written in the days when the second Vultlag was being prepared in the north. Partly prophetic, it told of the approaching end of their Kingdom of the North.

We burned Hazot that men found pleasant;

On Oto's plain we flew in force,

Threw back the arms of knight and peasant,

Cast down their ashlars, course by course.

 Unconquerable, peerless, ordered,

Our Kingdom of the North was vast,

Feared by the Tirasites we bordered,

And safe from all things but the past.

 Our own claws cast down spear and saber;

Where once we flew, we walked and crept.

King Roset called us from our labor;

The Vultlag called us, and we slept.

Eyes will not see the arches crumble,

Claws will not feel the walls sink low,

Ears will not hear the towers tumble;

Our limbs lie cold as stone below.

Our limbs lie cold in deepest slumber

In countless caves well hid from men.

The swift winged hosts that none could number

Sleep till the true voice calls again.

In dreams we serve him by the ocean,

In Meschor where the breakers pound.

Sisskame, test our strong devotion

Who once laid Hazot to the ground.

Vuzbal looked up and saw the Princess in the shadows by the gate. "Now lads," he whispered, "softly--the Parting Song again."

They began once more, singing it in Kreenspam.

Ji ka lokmang adrenu,

'Ja ilban ka semu....

Before they could finish the stanza, Simone rushed in among them. "No more!" she commanded. "Are you trying to cloy me to death with that sentimental nonsense?" She snatched Vuzbal's flute and shook it at him scoldingly. "You Sarrs--you're impossible. Music in the cold and dark. Couldn't you tell I was trying to be depressed?"

Vuzbal's laughter was high and clear as his flute. The others hesitantly joined him. "But Princess, we did not think it dark for you, since your eyes are so large to let in light; and how can you be as cold as we are when you have all that extra pelt tied to you? Isn't it warm and bright here?"

"Why, you impudent Fuzzball!" Simone shrieked, highly pleased.

"Impudent? No, I'm repentant, Lady. Please give me back my flute, and we'll atone with a better song."

Simone carefully laid the wood and silver instrument in his long dark claw, allowing her fingers to brush his fur. "Give me a story, instead," she asked. "Is this the same Hazot tower that you sang about just now?"

"It is, Princess."

"Tell me about it."

"Yes, but in the tower, Princess, by the fire?"

Late into the night Vuzbal and the other Vults entertained Simone with their tales and songs. They told her of their people's life on the Island of Alashiya before the Sarrs came to the Fold; and of their journey to the Fold in the first year of Narvan Reckoning; of their gathering to the first Vultlag in N.R. 34; and of the awakening of the first Vultlag, called from sleep by the legendary Emperor Kuley; and of the fall of Hazot, last fortress of the Bourasnians to surrender to the Vult armies. They told her heart-rending tales of the Lagkrals--or Lag-dead--who remained cold when all others awoke. A few of the Vults in this fire-lit circle were mourning the loss of friend or wife who had come to the second Vultlag, it seemed, only weeks ago. But more than four hundred years had passed as one long night. The beloved ones remained as stone.

Vuzbal sang of lovers so parted, and Simone--resting her hand on his shoulder, her elbow brushing his wing--cried over the story. She thanked him when it was over, and asked for news of Athlaz.

"We only know this, Princess, that Athlaz has not returned, and that all roads lying to the west have been closed by the Farjans. He can't come back the way he went."

"What does that mean?" Simone asked tremulously.

"It means that he and his companions must travel east to the River Eleutheria. They may hope to follow it all the way to the coast, and so take ship in a great circuit to the Seelkir pin Rom."

"If he's still alive and not a prisoner," Simone said gloomily.

"We may hope so, Princess. That's how that, oh-so-sentimental Parting Song has helped you. Bards no doubt took it east before the roads were closed, and so Athlaz will be warned by it not to use his own name in his travels. But keee!--one more merry song before we sleep."

Chapter 20 The Pretender 

During the next few days, each time Simone was on the ground she heard alarming news from Vult scouts. For the farther they journeyed into Meschor, flying over the barren plains, the thicker came the reports of armies stirring on the coast. A force of humans and Silbs was said to be marching southward from the Broken Realm. These were led by the Pretender who Bremset felt sure was Clay, though how Clay could lead an army was beyond Simone. Up from Eschor to meet them was marching an army of the Emperor Solomon's. Solomon himself was said to be still in Colonia, preparing to follow with a larger force.

Even more exciting and frightening were the reports of Dragons in the coastal waters. For, as the Vults told her, these were not in the habit of coming so far north. The people of Meschor were in deadly danger.

On the dark, cloudy morning of December third, Simone rose from her blankets to learn that the scouts had sighted a Lusetta in the eastern sky. She left the hut that the Vults had found for her and ran out to discover that the Lusetta had already flown away eastward, whether to report to the Pretender, to Solomon, or to the Dragons no one could say. She heard from these same scouts, however, that a battle had been fought near the coast the previous day, and that the Pretender's forces had won handily over the Eschorians.

Though it was still barely dawn, Simone ordered her flying net readied and was soon aloft and on her way to the Pretender's encampment, now quite close. Her first sight of interest was that of hundreds of scavenger birds wheeling in the sky ahead, marking the site of yesterday's battle. But before they reached them, she saw a great crowd of tents and people on the whitened plain. As the Vults flew lower, this proved to be the bright pavilions of the Pretender's camp, and many thousands of his soldiers. It was a breathtaking sight, but far more amazing were the gigantic figures of Dragons looming just beyond, between the soldiers and the sea.

No one had prepared Simone for the sheer size of Dragons older than Dramun. One in particular stood out, a basilisk the length of a football field, scales rippling in reds and greens on its spiky back, and with what appeared to be a massive gold chain around its neck. Hopelessly, Simone tried to imagine she was seeing a parade float, but its tail moved, and so that was that.

The Vults set her down in a half inch of snow on the landward side of the camp--farthest from the Dragons--and Simone stood shakily. Bremset and Vuzbal alighted beside her, and soon all the Vults were gathered behind them in their thousands.

"Our having landed is a sign to the Pretender's forces of our peaceful intent," Bremset explained to Simone. "Now we must wait for them to come out to us."

The wait was not long. In a few minutes a young nobleman came riding to them on a korfy, the first of the great birds Simone had seen since the ruins of Lucilla. The young man was black haired and narrow chinned and wore on the upper edge of his breast plate a small festoon of purple. Behind him marched a few dozen human soldiers. With difficulty, the young man halted the bird and scanned the Vult army with a boyish, frightened face. Whether he was scared of the Vults or of his own restless mount, Simone could not tell, but he certainly seemed to have minimal control of the beast. Soon he focused on Simone as the only human.

"The Emperor demands to know your business," he said with some show of confidence. "Why have Vults come here?"

Simone stepped forward. "Let me talk to him and we can settle this right away," she shouted up to him. "Will you escort me to him?"

"And who might you be?"

"And who might you be yourself?" she shot back.

"I'm Prince Michael of the Broken Realm."

"Well, I'm Princess Simone, sister to the true Emperor. If you'll escort me to your leader, I'll go with just Captain Bremset and Vuzbal the Bard."

"With pleasure. I guarantee you safe passage."

Michael bowed slightly, as if afraid of falling off, and then tapped with his guide stick against the neck of the korfy to turn it around. Simone just did manage to keep a straight face during the couple of minutes it took the Prince to complete this maneuver and get started in the right direction. She followed on foot with her two Vults, and the human soldiers fell in beside and behind.

As they walked through the camp, Simone discovered something not apparent from the air; that is, that most of the Pretender's soldiers were not human. They were Silbs, the lizard folk, with bubble eyes and narrow forked tongues. Tall as men, green scaled, and hairless, they either stood motionless as statues or darted here and there in bursts of speed. When the two Vults appeared among them, the Silbs all stood still and stared, as did the human soldiers. They were so interested in these envoys from the legendary past that they paid little attention to Simone, despite her odd clothing.

As for Simone, only the brief pleasure of seeing her seventh Sarr species caused her to pay any attention to her surroundings. As she braced herself for a probable terrible disappointment, the tents, flags, and banners went by in a blur.

At the largest pavilion Prince Michael slowed the korfy and dismounted without attempting to completely stop the beast. It was quickly caught by some of the hundreds of soldiers nearby. Then the Prince led Simone and the Vults through the tent door, upon which was worked the image of a burning torch on a field of purple. Within, the ground was carpeted in purple, and tall golden lampstands stood in rows near the walls. The tent was crowded with Silbs and humans, all wearing purple festoons like Michael's. They all turned and stared at the Vults.

Simone felt sick with suspense. "Where's the Emperor?" she asked the Prince.

Michael pointed to a curtained off corner. "In there, but you'll have to wait while I report." He raised his voice. "Someone find seats for the Princess Simone and her escorts."

He disappeared behind the curtain, while several soldiers began slowly to leave a nearby couch, and then hurried away as the Vults drew closer. Now Simone had time to look around with more leisure. The Silbs were hard to read, but the human officers looked decidedly ill at ease. She caught scraps of conversation.

"...Dragons on one side, Vults on the other...!"

"...what Solomon is going to do when he comes with his real army..."

"...too many prisoners to take on a retreat..."

The curtain fluttered and someone came out, a creature such as she had seen only in her vision in the Great Tunnel. It was clothed like a human and stood upright, but its great face was that of a mountain lion. It gave her the same cool and contemptuous stare she had previously received only from spoiled housecats. Prince Michael followed the Mangar out and pulled him aside for a whispered consultation. Simone heard only a little.

"...said if she fusses and argues--"

"--to turn her away?"

"No, that's how we know it's Simone."

Simone's cheeks burned. Apparently, her reputation had preceded her. She heard a stifled chuckle from Vuzbal, who with his amazing ears must have heard everything.

"What are they saying?" she whispered to him.

"They're afraid you've brought us Vults so as to make war with their Pretender. The Mangar thinks you'll have to be taken hostage."

"Do what? We're here on their good word!" Simone exploded. "That isn't Clay in there, is it?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Princess."

"Well, did you catch anything else?"

"Nothing important. The Mangar wants to know if Prince Michael took good care of the Mangar's korfy when he borrowed it. The Prince swears he rode it like an expert." Vuzbal and Bremset chuckled.

More minutes passed, as for the thousandth time she heard in her mind Clay's scream as he fell from the korfy, saw that last mental picture of him being held by Quintusian soldiers and reaching out to her. She began to wonder why the tent seemed so poorly ventilated. It must be the oil lamps. Their fire reminded her of the Trunk-fire in Greenlawn Cemetery, and that reminded her of the peace and power she had met there. What was she so charged up about, anyway? She had walked through a burning tree, so what else could happen to her? Why, she wondered, did she have to live life so fiercely?

It was a new question for Simone, who knew herself only slenderly. She did not have to take the trouble to think back over her history to know that she had never once faced a crisis calmly. She had screamed, kicked, and punched her way through life. If she were behaving normally, she would right now be working herself up to punch somebody, probably that Mangar--right in his fat, feline nose. Instead, she suddenly felt ridiculously at peace. If Clay was not here, that would be simply awful, but not unbearably awful. The Fold was under good care and so was her brother, wherever he might be, and so was she.

At last Prince Michael appeared again. This time he came straight to Simone. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Princess. The Emperor will admit you to his presence now. The Vults, however, must remain here."

"Steady," Vuzbal whispered to Simone. "Control your temper, Princess."

She smiled at him and patted his bony, red-veined arm. "Don't worry, I won't slap more than three or four of them."

She stood and found her knees surprisingly weak. Michael offered his arm, and she tottered forward. They passed the curtain. Here were more lampstands, smoke, maps spread out on a table. Silb guards stood to left and right, and just before her was the Mangar.

"Sir Nashpa, your servant," he introduced himself in his deep, feline voice. "Your pardon for the delay." He moved aside to make way for her--and there stood the Emperor.

It was not Clay.

A young, bearded sovereign stood behind the table, fair haired, taller than Clay, regally crowned and robed.

"Simone! Am I glad you're here!" he cried out in English.

Then it was as if her eyes focused. Clay was behind the beard and robes, his little brother eyes looking out at her beseechingly. He came around the table and took her hands, babbling something about the Dragons and Tsawb.

"Hey there, scudball," Simone said. "It's time to go home."

The End of THE EMPRESS,

PART 1 OF THE DOOR IN CROW WOOD

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