JEMIDON turned his head away in disgust. Utothaz's body, sprawled on the tablestone, could barely be seen beneath the huddled forms of his manipulants bending over him. The smacking of lips competed with the whistle of the air. He looked in the direction of the wind. In the distance, he could just discern a tiny speck against the reddish background and, around it, the shading to brown that indicated the concentration of toxic fumes. They had soared for another dozen sleeping periods, and the careful observations through the telescope had long since confirmed that there were no deviations in their flight. By whatever chance, none of the iodestones they carried had a repulsive counterpart on the poison-spewing rock. And no other lithons were anywhere in sight. Still, it seemed little enough reason for Utothaz and the others to abandon hope so quickly.
Ponzar appeared at Jemidon's side and tapped him on the shoulder. "It is no more repulsive than the way you tear the flesh from the bone with your teeth," he said. "And if he is not a criminal, we leave the skull-leave it so that the features remain when the body is cast off into the sky."
"The air is not yet so foul that it cannot be endured," Jemidon replied, "Utothaz has not breathed his last." He shook his head in amazement that the captain still spent his entire day in language drill. Even the accent showed hints of fading.
"He may just as well." Ponzar twirled the shovel blade. "The struggle to hold the laws bound was too great. He knows that he will decouple and move to another vertex only a few times more. It is better for him to give the rest the sweetness of his marrow while he is still fresh."
"But the manipulants," Jemidon protested. "They bicker on who is to be fed upon next. What have they done to deserve such a fate?"
"It is our way," Ponzar said. "Without the pilot to guide them, their lives are as lost. The bounds will be broken. There will be no resonances. It is for few others that they can manipulate the stones."
"It seems to me that the last thing you would want to do is rid yourself of the only talent that has any hope of reversing your direction."
"We will hold trials for another pilot. Although, even if we find one in those who remain, it will little matter, Our flight is swift. There are no other lithons nearby."
"How can you be so calm?" Jemidon growled. "Your very life is in peril. This may be your last soar across the sky. Why are you not straining to invent a scheme, some plan that will save us all?"
"It is the way of the great right hand," Ponzar said softiy. "Valdroz wanted us repulsed after he had plundered our harvest. But I do not believe that he would want us to be pushed where the air hangs foul. No, we must have been touched by the great right hand as well. Life is repetition, but Skyskirr do not fly forever. For each comes the time when the tugging lithons are far away and the drift leads without change to the walls. For this small stone, that time is now, and we must accept. Our duty is to give our fellows the pleasure of the feast before it is too late to be enjoyed."
The captain eyed Jemidon speculatively. "And as to your own marrow. We have treated you well. Better than some of the other lithons might. It would be to your honor if you do not wait before offering yourself and the female for the benefit of the rest."
Jemidon instinctively drew his arms back to his chest. "I am not Delia's owner," he said. "Any more than you are of me. She will decide in her own mind how she will face the end, if it is to come."
Ponzar closed his eyes for a moment and then pointed with his shovel at the speck in the distance. "The question is not if, but when," he said. "Make peace with the great right hand in your own 'hedron. We would prefer your gift freely given, but will not wait long for it."
Jemidon scowled and turned his back. The helplessness of their situation tore through him like stinging acid. More time had slipped through his fingers. Now it was possibly too late for his own world. He looked again at the growing cloud of dull brown. And soon it also would no longer matter here. Not only was he to fail once again, but in a strange universe, far from home, unmourned, and his body mutilated by fatalistic ghouls.
He heard Utothaz cry in discomfort and clutched at the brandel around his neck. Ponzar had refused to tell him more of metamagic, even after the treachery of Valdroz's floater. In total isolation from the rest of the Skyskirr, the captain still was taking no chances regarding Melizar and his suspected return.
Jemidon felt the battered coinchanger at his waist and idly fingered a dozen coins into his palm. Looking down at the mixture of metal, he smiled ruefully. Benedict's puzzle of the twenty-five mixed coins was probably the only conundrum he would solve-a meaningless pastime instead of the foundation of the universal laws. He looked back into the sky and shrugged. A child's puzzle or keystone to the universes. In the end, was either more important than the other?
A hacking cough at his side broke Jemidon out of his reverie. He turned to see Delia leaning against the safety rope and clutching her other fist to her chest. Her skin was pale. Her golden hair hung in limp snarls. Deep wrinkles had appeared under her eyes, and her cheekbones cut sharp angles in her face.
"The air affects you more than the rest," Jemidon said softly. "You should remain in one of the caverns. Perhaps we can rig up a seal so that the most foul will not as readily mix."
Delia snapped closed her lips and tried to gain control of her spasms. She settled slowly to the rock surface and motioned Jemidon to follow, "It is so cold," she muttered. "So cold. I wonder which of the perils will get me first."
"Do not talk that way," Jemidon said. "I have not given up, like Ponzar and the rest. Perhaps some other pilot will change the laws in a way that will repulse us from this outgassing lithon. Perhaps we wilt manage to sail on through to greater possibilities beyond."
He pounded his fist into his palm. "If only I had the wit to master wizardry! Even an imp might give us more resource than we have now."
Delia managed a wan smile. "You have saved me twice," she said. "I have no right to expect more. And if it is to proceed to an end, I could have done far worse than to share it with one such as you."
Jemidon looked into Delia's eyes and drew her close. A few times before, they had huddled together for warmth. But this time she melted into his arms in a way that he knew was different. The passion that he had held in check since the rebuff in Farnel's hut flamed anew.
"You are not without virtue yourself," he said thickly. "A gambler in the markets of Pluton. the organizer of Farnel's presentation, a survivor of the confines of Drandor's tent, the seducer of a rockbubbler sprite.
"That is another part of the mystery." Jemidon paused for a moment. "I had put it out of my mind. How could you possibly get the demon to do as you commanded? He was bound to one of Melizar's manipulants. A master he already possessed. Perhaps wizards can wrest for control of demons, just as the metamagicians contend for the unlocking here."
"I did not seek you out to push the beads about a puzzle," Delia said. "There is little enough time. Come, let us go into one of the caverns while the Skyskirr are occupied with their feast."
"I thought it was my analytical bent that had finally worn down your resistance." Jemidon laughed.
Delia did not smile. "As I said, there is little enough time and certainly no other choice. Let us make the best of it that we can."
Jemidon frowned at her serious tone. "But what if I were the one with the heavy cough and you the more ablebodied?" he asked. "Would you still seek me out? If somehow we return, what then of your closeness?"
For a long moment, Delia was silent. "I do not know, Jemidon." She sighed. "You are a puzzling mixture. Flashes of brilliant insights, caring, and sentiment, but also a skittering focus and a disregard for discipline. I do not know, Jemidon, and abstract conjectures no longer matter. We are here, and the time is now."
Jemidon pulled Delia tighter, and she kissed him on the cheek. He ran his hand down the length of her arm and felt his pulse quicken. But what she had said also began to gnaw at the back of his mind. Like a piece of sand in the corner of his eye, the words detracted from the anticipated pleasure. He thought of Augusta and the way she had looked when he decided to leave. He remembered the contrast of Delia's coldness when he tested her intent in Farnel's hut.
"It is because you have a need, isn't it?" Jemidon stiffened and pushed Delia away. "On the cliffs of Morgana, beneath Drandor's tent, speaking the charms for Farnel-in each case you gave because of a necessity. An even exchange, one favor for another. And when we soared through sweet air, you were sufficient unto yourself. It is only when you desire a windshield against the cold or the cradle of an arm at the last that you come slithering back. Farnel, Gerilac, Burdon, whoever's comforting presence, it would not matter as long as you get what you want."
"Your pleasure will be as great." Delia's tone hardened. "I do not take that for which I cannot provide adequate compensation."
"Nor do you give without expecting payment in return," Jemidon snapped. "You are a woman with many skills, Delia. I am attracted to you in a way I cannot explain. But my thoughts were not of grateful favors when we raced down the cliffside in Morgana or struggled into the cages above the Arcadian plain." He placed his finger under her chin, raising her eyes to his. "You might try an unfettered gift once. There is more than one way to interact with another."
"That is easy enough for you to say." Delia pushed his hand aside, her eyes suddenly flashing. "You did not have your innocence ripped away by dirty-handed traders only too eager to offer so-called advice in the token exchanges. You were not the slave of foul-breathed ruffians who delighted in making you a gaudy display. I have done my share of giving and learned full well what is the result."
"And have I been like the others?" Jemidon asked. "When we huddled for warmth, were my dirty hands misplaced?"
Delia turned away from his stare. She caught her breath and roughly twisted the iron bracelet around her wrist. Jemidon waited, breathing rapidly despite the tainted air.
"No, they were not," she whispered after a long moment. "From the first you have acted as a hero from the sagas, just as I visualized in the dreams I have long since thrust aside."
She glanced into his eyes and then darted her sight away. "You state that I deliberately stayed apart. Indeed I did, Jemidon, indeed I did. But not because of what you think. It has been so long, yet I am still afraid. You are soft and tender; I felt the walls I had so carefully erected melt away. But I cannot be so foolish. Even at the end. What if you turned out to be no better than the rest?"
Jemidon's anger melted. Beneath the exterior barrier, there was feeling for him after all. He reached out tentatively, but halted before he touched her arm. "I thought that no one's burden was greater than my own," he said softly. "I have spent my life reaching for an elusive goal. But perhaps it is worse to be running away from a past that can never be changed."
Delia took his outstretched hand and pressed it to her cheek. "Your insight pierces more than the interior of lifeless puzzles," she said with a small smile. "You are right, Jemidon. I have used you as I have many others; and even now I came to use you still."
Delia placed her finger across Jemidon's lips. "No, say no more. There is too little time left to be so ill met. I wish to try again. But first I must think of a gift, a gift freely given without any obligations attached."
After a moment, Delia dropped her hand. The passion ebbed away. Jemidon took a deep breath and then joined her in a chorus of coughs. The air had a distinctively metallic taste, with hints of sulfur, like the breath of the djinn which had transported them here between the universes. He tried to think of something more to say, but the words would not come. In silence, they stood facing each other, with the foul wind whistling between them and tugging at their clothes.
After a few moments more, Jemidon felt a tap on his shoulder. He whirled to see Ponzar and two others standing in a row.
"Yes," Jemidon snapped. "What do you want? If it is our bones, you have come too soon. We are not ready yet to give ourselves up."
"It is the matter of Utothaz's final peace." Ponzar ignored the tone. "It seems that the removal of the ribs gives him some pain. And at the convergence, you had mentioned a Foam of Wellbeing."
"The law is not operative here," Jemidon said. "I would produce only a minor explosion as before."
"But if there were an unlocking," Ponzar said, "and you attempted the formula within the confines of Utothaz's palms."
Jemidon frowned for a moment and then nodded in understanding. "With the laws uncoupled, it might be a least contradiction. We are far away from any other lithon, so the effects of the others will be quite small. It might work at that." He glanced at Delia, then looked down at his coinchanger and tugged the brandel around his neck. "And I might just as well while away the time with one puzzle as with the next. Yes, lead on. I will run through the formula once again."
Ponzar and the others turned and headed back toward the pit with the tablestone. Jemidon started to follow, then hesitated and looked back at Delia, She held her head downward, avoiding his glance. "Get out of the wind," he said thickly. "I will work on a seal when I am done with the alchemy."
Jemidon looked down at the pilot lying on the table-stone and tried to hide his revulsion. Both of the Skyskirr's legs dangled over the edge of the rock like limp rags. The hands were folded across the stomach in a tangle of pliant fingers. The chest spread over the stone far wider than natural proportions would allow. Beneath the skin, Jemidon could see the weak throb of the heart. Crowded behind the pilot was the entire population of Ponzar's lithon. Manipulants, weavers, smiths, and scribes all waited respectfully to see Utothaz's last.
"How can he lay on his hands," Jemidon asked, "let alone work the pyramid to perform the decoupling?"
"A manipulant will assist," Ponzar said. "Signal when you are ready."
Jemidon checked off the materials at his feet. Ponzar had produced a larger flask of vinegar than before. Following Jemidon's instructions, he had even rummaged and found a purer sack of soda. Jemidon fingered the sharp piece of charcoal for writing the formula and brushed his knuckles over a finely tanned hide on which to make the symbols. Mentally, he ran through the symbology just to make sure that it was all still fresh in his mind.
"Ready." He nodded to Ponzar. "When he has performed the decoupling, I will add the ingredients together."
Ponzar nodded to Utothaz, and the metamagician chittered instructions to the manipulant at his side. The fleshy fingers were pressed against the pyramid, and the vertices slowly turned. Jemidon felt an increase in tension, like a rope stretched by a great weight, and then a snapping release. He was adrift as before, feeling the wandering of the universe among the lattice of the laws. All eyes turned to him, expecting the flourish of the formula.
For a moment he hesitated, exploring in his mind the feeling that was no longer strange. He clutched the brandel about his neck, running his thumb and forefinger over the smooth surface. He visualized the mysterious box that spilled out secrets tipping on its side, the top flopping open, and all the contents pouring out to diffuse through the rest of his thoughts. He reached for the snaky tendrils as they floated past, fraying their strands into finer and finer threads, searching for the answer to the last of the puzzles. He grabbed at one knot of significance as it drifted past, some fact, some observation that was more important than the rest. But it squirmed from his grasp, hovering just out of reach with what he most wanted to know.
"The alchemy," Ponzar said softly in his ear. "You must hurry. Utothaz must also unlock for the succession testing, and there is very little time."
Jemidon coughed in response and wrinkled his nose. The smell was tangibly worse. He heard one or two of the others wheeze as well. He shook himself alert and carefully set aside the charcoal and leather. Cupping his hand, he dug into the sack of soda, snagging a nail on the burlap side. Again he dug, but stumped his fingertips against a solidified clump. When he retracted his arm, he lost half the load against the flap that fell in the way.
Jemidon reached for the flask with his other hand and frowned in annoyance. The stopper was stuck fast, even though he had tested it moments before. For an instant he fumbled; then one of the manipulants boldly reached from where he crouched and pulled the cork with a deft motion. Jemidon tipped his hand containing the soda toward the opening and watched most of the powder blow away, pushed by the wind. But before he could react, the manipulant plunged his arms into the sack and dumped two heaving portions into the flask. With a flourish, the Skyskirr pushed shut the seal.
Jemidon frowned, then shrugged as he saw the others paying no attention to his bumbling, but waiting instead for the scripting of the formula. He retrieved the small piece of charcoal between Fingers suddenly numb and cold. Touching it to the hide, he started to draw the first swirl. Or was it a swirl? The second had a serif that curled into the third. The fourth was a simple triangle, or perhaps one with a dot where the altitudes crossed. Jemidon knitted his brow. This was nonsense. He had known it all just moments before. And success or failure did not matter. Utothaz would soon pass, conscious of pain or not. This was no examination for the master's robe. He gritted his teeth and tried to remember the formula. But with each passing second, it faded farther and farther away.
Jemidon closed his eyes and felt sweat form on his forehead. The icy wind cooled the droplets to become freezing pain. A chorus of chittering forced his attention back to the flask. He blinked at what he saw. At the last possible moment, he hurled it away to explode harmlessly downwind.
"It might not have succeeded anyhow," he said quickly before Ponzar could speak. "Perhaps some other contradiction forced it away."
The captain closed his eyes and did not respond. After a moment, he stood to full height in the wind and pounded the handle of his shovel for attention. He pointed at Utothaz, still managing to labor on the table, and motioned all the Skyskirr who were not manipulants to form into a line.
"We will use the decoupling instead for the testing." Ponzar turned to Jemidon and explained. "It is unfortunate that the last moments of the pilot will not be without some pain." He paused and spoke in a whisper that Jemidon could barely hear. "And I think it is best that you try for possession of the key as well."
Jeraidon shrugged and kicked at the sack of soda at his feet. "Why not?" he agreed. "I can perform none of my own domain's crafts. Perhaps my skill lies in the simple manipulation of the stones."
He said no more. In a foul mood, he pulled himself along the safety rope to the rear of the line. From the way the queue snaked around the uneven surface of the lithosoar, he had an unobstructed view of the tablestone. The procedure was simple enough. The first in line reverently swung down into the pit and listened to Utothaz's hoarse commands. Starling with brown cairngorm on predetermined marks, the Skyskirr moved the stones over calibrated trajectories chiseled into the rock and then he was done. For each one who tried, the sequence was slightly different. Some traced out hyperbolas, and others looped the stones in ellipses or circles about a common focus. But all apparently were able to do as directed. Ponzar indicated success by dipping his shovel after each had completed his task.
Finally Jemidon's turn came. He listened, puzzled, while Utothaz wheezed his instructions and then waited patiently for Ponzar to translate what had been said.
"Blue chrysocolla," the captain explained. "Two stones motionless a hand span apart. Move them together on a straight line. Accelerate their motion as they draw closer and collide."
Jemidon climbed down into the pit and reached into the scatter of stones. He coughed once and then shook with a spasm that made his eyes water and blurred his vision. With a feeling of sudden doubt, he closed his fingers around the nearest stone.
"No, not serpentine-chrysocolla," Ponzar said. "Two stones of the same type with a force that is to attract."
Jemidon squinted at his hands and saw that somehow he had picked up the wrong rocks. Staring at the tablestone, he closed on the proper targets and then looked at the carved inscriptions to see where they should be placed. A forest of crosses, squares, and tangled lines swarmed before his eyes. What had been so obvious standing on the edge of the pit was now a hopeless confusion. He stabbed blindly with his left hand and felt the stone jar on contact and slip from his cramped grip.
Jemidon hastily reached out to grab the free stone, but his sleeve swept across the table, knocking a dozen more off the surface to scatter into the pit. He bent forward to pick up what he had spilled and banged his head with a sharp crack against the side of the flat stone. He staggered to his feet, feeling suddenly dizzy, and fell backward, tripping over the telescope, which somehow had tangled between his legs.
One of Utothaz's manipulants, the one who had rushed to aid with the alchemy, slipped past Jemidon and moved the stones in the manner prescribed. The sense of drifting suddenly vanished. The last of the tests had been completed. The laws once more were in effect.
They all had succeeded in the simple exercise. All except Jemidon. Even the simple magics of Melizar's universe were beyond his ability to master.
He blinked aside the film thai was forming in his eyes, searching his mind for what he should say next. He blinked again when he saw the captain bowing on one knee, his shovel dipped at his side.
Ponzar extended his right hand with the index finger pointing at Jemidon, thumb skyward and middle finger to the side. Jemidon whirled to look at the rest. They were all doing the same.
"By the grace of the great right hand, homage to the new pilot," Ponzar said. "Homage to the new pilot, or as he would say in his own tongue, homage to the meta-magician, master of all the laws."
"What do you mean?" Jemidon asked. "I failed. Of all of these, I was the only one who could not pass the simple test. If I cannot master the basic principles, what hope do I have of controlling the metalaws as well?"
"You are not Melizar's mampulant." Ponzar rose and pounded his shovel on the ground. "He would never have sent a possible rival if he knew of that one's power. There is an instinctive distrust that grows as awareness unfolds. No, faraway one, the test has confirmed it. There can be no doubt. You are a metamagician. May the great right hand make you strong."
"Two metalaws," Jemidon protested. "Only two metalaws do I know."
"There is only one more," Ponzar said. "The Verity of Exclusion is the third."
"As Melizar indicated." Jemidon nodded. "After the battle in Plowblade Pass."
"Exactly so," Ponzar agreed. "The Verity of Exclusion, or, as the Skyskirr say, 'if skill with the key, then none with the stone.' You can be a mover of the stones or the one who uncouples, but not both. The great right hand does not permit such talent to reside all in one."
Jemidon gasped as the words hit him. The implication was staggering, if it were true. Manipulator of the laws or a practitioner, but not both. Talent in one excluded performance in the other. It was the answer to all his failures, bundled neatly in a single mass, coupled to a cause totally outside himself. He felt his lifelong burden suddenly release from his shoulders and sail away. Despite Melizar's twisting of the laws, despite the growing menace of the noxious air, his spirits soared. More swiftly than the fastest lithon, the feeling careened through his thoughts. There was nothing wrong with him. He was as worthy to hold his shoulders straight as the next. He was truly a man, able to return even a master's stare without looking away.
He reached out and grabbed Ponzar's arm. "I want to believe, Ponzar, most certainly I do. It would explain so much. The bumblings, the miscarriages-they would be tolerable to bear. I could not have become the thaumaturge's apprentice despite my sister's sacrifice, nor the magician's initiate, nor Farnel's tyro, nor any of the rest. It is a law, a metalaw, that prevented me all the while."
Jemidon managed to laugh. He almost jumped to click his heels, but remembered in time and grabbed onto the safety rope. He ran the facts through his mind; as they fell into place, one by one, his smile broadened. On Morgana, he could not work the simplest charms until after sorcery was no longer a law. He had fumbled through the ritual in Rosimar's guild, even though it was the simplest step. In the grotto, he could not grasp the rock-cutting sword. And even alchemy-when the domain was tightly coupled and the formula had no part of law, he remembered perfectly. But just now, when there was Indeed a chance to effect its potency, he could not recall a thing. He was suited for no craft. No master's robe would he ever wear. It would be that of a metamagician instead, one whose skills transcended all laws. He could-
Jemidon stopped and frowned at Ponzar. "You say that there are only three metalaws, and now I know them all. The constraint of seven I understand and the manipulation of least contradictions as well. But the uncoupling." Jemidon shrugged. "I know nothing of the working of Metizar's cube or even Utothaz's pyramid."
"Those are only the crutches," Ponzar said. "The aids that help bring forth the powers the pilots possess inside. They are bound to the gradual awakenings, the growing understanding of the working of the laws. For each pilot, it is different, something unique to his own being, something that resonates with what molded him into the power that he is to be."
"But I have no such device," Jemidon said. "The only thing remotely resembling it would be this old coinchanger I carry and the puzzle that-"
Jemidon halted a second time. The thoughts were coming clear and fast. "Benedict's puzzle. Twenty-five coins," he mumbled. "The trick is to insert them in such a way that each column ends up with only one type. I have done the best I can, but have yet to come up with the solution. There is no way with twenty-five already in the chambers to set the initial state properly before I make any discharge. I would need something else, another from the outside. A twenty-sixth to have it right."
Jemidon's eyes blinked as it all rushed together in a flash. With trembling fingers, he removed the leather thong from around his neck and untied the knot. Slowly he slid the worn brandel from the loop. Holding his breath, he inserted it into the changer.
Jemidon heard it tinkle into the innards and paused a moment more. "Dranbots," he said, fingering the leftmost column. He pressed the lever and saw the glitter of five identical coins in his palm. "Galleons," he said more excitedly as he pushed the next. "Regals, coppers, and finally gold brandels, the last of all."
Jemidon pushed the final lever slowly, holding his lips in a tight line. He felt the strain of the stretched rope and then a sudden snap as the universe started to drift. Ponzar and the others resumed their reverent bows. It was true. Jemidon had decoupled the laws.
For a moment, no one spoke. Jemidon felt dazed from the staggering immensity of what he had learned. He was a metamagician, master of the three metalaws. At first he had thought he was pursuing a sixth magic, but now he understood that that concept was wrong. Although only seven could have power at one time, there were a countless number of magics, each governed by its own laws. Metamagic was something entirely different, with three metalaws of its own. And the metamagician was able to deactivate the underlying principles of a whole universe and replace them with others at his command.
Without thinking, Jemidon reached back to the table-stone and fiddled with the small rocks so that the laws would reengage. One of the manipulants scrambled forward and, with a slight bow, pushed aside his hand.
Jemidon frowned in puzzlement for a moment and then laughed. "Of course, I cannot perform the craft. It will take some getting used to. Um, black sphalerite, moving in a single line. Bring them to touching with increasing speed."
The manipulant looked back at Ponzar and heard the translation. Soon the laws were reestablished and Jemidon sagged to the table, the intense wash of emotion robbing the strength in his legs.
"The manipulants?" he asked Ponzar. "You said before that they must be attuned to the metamagician's power as well."
"As it is to be," Ponzar said. "The one who rushed forward has felt the urge more so than the rest. Perhaps because of our differences, he may be unique." Ponzar looked at Utothaz, still wheezing on the table, and up to the speck now more apparent in the sky. "But how many you have does not really matter. The transition has been accomplished. Utothaz may give his last in peace. I have done my duty as a captain. The great right hand will be pleased."
Ponzar turned to go, but Jemidon grabbed him by the shoulder and held him back. "Wait, I feel that there is still more. How does one select the manipulants? How do I know when we are well met?"
"Their dexterity is enhanced by a pilot's nearness. Like you, they have inherent skill. But close to your side, they are able to act far better than they could alone. You saw how well the one manipulated the flask and then the stones. The stronger the pilot, the more powerful are those who serve with him as well."
Jemidon's face brightened. "Not only the pushing of the stones, but any craft."
"Any of the laws," Ponzar said. "Why do you ask?"
Jemidon did not reply. Quickly he turned and scampered as fast as he could along the safety rope toward the entrance to the caverns,
"Delia," he called. "Delia! I know why you were able to receive so much aid from the rockbubbler and to say the glamours for Farnel with such little drill. At the very least, you are a sorcerer and a wizard. It is you who will find the pathway home."
Jemidon held his hands to his sides. He willed himself to take short swallows of air through his nose, but it did not help. The metallic smell was pervasive. The sulfur made him want to gag. Any deep draw only burned his lungs, His eyes watered, and he felt a tingling in his hands and feet. He looked at Delia, faithfully nurturing the flame to life for the dozenth time, and knew that she would not last much longer. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut. Her hands trembled as she manipulated the spark. Jemidon wanted to grab the flint from her grasp, but restrained himself, because he knew it would do no good. Delia had to summon whatever devil she could. At best, he could only be near and watch.
He looked up the stairway leading outside to the reddish sky, now visibly dirty and gray. A fine ash swirled in the air, leaving a dark powder everywhere. Jemidon could hear the deep-throated hacks of a dozen of the Skyskirr, even though they were less affected than Delia and he. Two more had already submitted themselves for the feasting of the others. Jemidon had noticed a ruddy glow in the cheeks of those that remained, despite the foul air; their stomachs were distended from the offerings of their comrades. Occasionally they would look into Delia's chamber and smile encouragement, evidently assuming that, even near the end, their new pilot was trying to save them.
Delia coughed again, and her outrushing breath blew out the beginnings of a flame. She looked up at Jemidon with helpless eyes, but he managed a smile to encourage her to try again.
"Even if I start a blaze, it will be the smallest of imps," she rasped. "Without any powders, there is no way to summon a djinn."
"Relax and let whatever augmentation I bring mix efficiently with your own power," Jemidon said. "And if you are truly enhanced, a small devil might be enough to carry at least you back. And in benign air, you can conjure what is necessary to come after me. Besides, you are doing the best you can. The way you laid out the sticks in a row and had the flints ground to uniform size are things I would not have thought of. You are indeed a worthy manipulant."
A small smile tugged at the edges of Delia's mouth. She pulled her stringy hair out of the way and bent low to try again with the flame. Jemidon moved to cut out what flow of wind he could, but then tensed as he felt something begin to stir inside.
"Another unlocking," he muttered. "And somehow I feel that I must withstand this one." He grasped the changer with both hands and jammed his fingers under the levers to prevent their accidental release. But the strain built faster than he could resist. The laws uncoupled, and almost immediately he saw a distant flash of light.
Jemidon stood and peered outside. To the left, perpendicularto their direction of travel, he saw another flash that darkened the red to crimson and then a third. A sudden increase in pressure stabbed at his ears. The lithosoar shook and bobbed like a pebble churned by a wave.
A second pulse followed and then the last, each one more violent than the one before. And with the final wave of pressure, although it made no sense, the wind seemed to shift direction. Jemidon scrambled outside, looking around to reestablish his bearings. He saw the lithon to which they were rushing still directly ahead. They were close enough now that it was more than a mere dot in the sky. On a visible disk of blacks and browns, he could see dense clouds of smoke spewing forth to form a dirty halo around the sphere.
For a moment, he watched until he was sure. They were still flying to their fatal encounter. Nothing had changed their momentum, and yet the wind came from another direction, A swirl of debris caught his eye where he was sure there had been none before. It slammed into the lithosoar a little above his head, ricocheting off and then continuing on in the breeze. A circular eddy whipped past, and then another that tossed their boulder back and forth in a gut-wrenching jolt.
Ponzar appeared over the horizon, pulling quickly on the safety rope and motioning Jemidon to come to the table stone.
"The laws have been changed again. I have felt it," Jemidon said as they met. He had to shout as the wind tore at his clothing and whistled around the rock,
"It is Melizar returning," Ponzar said. "The signal mirrors tell of it. Control of one 'hedron is not enough. His manipulants work some new art that whips the air into swirls. He plans to let none of the lithons soar as they choose until they have submitted to his will-until every pilot has broken his key and can manipulate the laws no more."
Ponzar started to say more, but gagged on the flux of foul air. He sank to one knee and let his shovel clatter on the hard ground. The stifling breeze pushed against the blade; in an instant, it was sailing away.
Another flash and shock wave shook the boulder. Jemidon felt his feet leave the ground. He reached out and snagged the safety rope in the crook of his elbow, just as he flew past. He twisted around to grip the line with his other hand and gradually hauled himself back onto the surface, Ponzar wrapped his legs around one of the stanchions and closed his eyes. He made the sign of the right hand and slumped to the surface of the rock.
"Follow the other metamagicians," he croaked. "As you gather strength, you will feel their presence more. Acting together, you might have a chance to stop Melizar as he tries to twist things farther away from the proper laws."
Jemidon looked up into the air and saw the turbulent winds rip at the bubbling brown gases from the other lithon. In great gouts of dirty cotton, the fumes exploded across the intervening distance, filling the sky.
"But the chance may be better back in my own universe," he shouted over the roaring wind. "There, wizardry and alchemy might provide some weapon better than attracting stones. I must help Delia conjure her passage back, to get to the archmage as we originally intended." He gagged and spat bitterness from his mouth, trying to shake the taste from his tongue.
"No, no, your duty is here." Ponzar shook his head. "You are the pilot and must act for the Skyskirr."
Jemidon tore himself free and pushed against the wind, back in the direction of Delia's cavern. His vision began to swim and his knees felt rubbery. He wanted to breathe deeply, but held his chest tight, hoping to reach the pocket before his senses slid away.
The roar of the air increased to a blistering intensity. The cold stung his lips. His knuckles turned white from their grip upon the rope. Hand over hand, in one strength- draining tug after another, Jemidon pulled toward the opening that loomed just ahead. Deep browns enveloped him completely and made it hard to see more than a few feet in front of his face.
He shut his eyes to keep out the sting. From memory, he crawled the last few paces. With a gasp, he tumbled into the entrance and squinted open his eyes to see how Delia fared. She was curled in a tight ball in the far corner of the cavern. Her skin was pale and her breath came in short pants. He touched the coldness of her flesh and recoiled from the clammy feel. She smiled weakly and, with jerky movements, pointed across the chamber.
Jemidon saw a dance of light in the brown cloud that flowed in after him and sputtered in the last embers of a flame. A small, squeaky voice sounded somewhere above the roar.
"Better make it snappy, bub. I can only manage one, and my master said that it was to be you."
"No, you are to transport Delia," Jemidon choked.
"In another minute, it will be nobody at all," the imp squeaked. "I am not sure I can manage one of your size as it is, and that excuse for a flame doesn't give me much room to maneuver."
"Pilot, your duty," Jemidon heard Ponzar call from outside. "You will serve the Skyskirr, even if I must carry you to the table myself."
Jemidon looked at the darkening sky and back at Delia's crumpled form. He saw Ponzar enter the cavern with a drawn sword. "Delia and quickly," he commanded the imp.
"No, I said it is to be Jemidon," Delia managed to croak.
"I shall follow my master's orders, bub," the sprite said. "There is no other way. A gift, she said. A gift unfettered, with no obligation to repay. One free passage to the archmage in the domain of men. Now give me a finger and cut the chatter. It's going to be a tight squeeze."