One foot after another.
Keep going.
My gaze followed the sweep of the path as it wound into a series of long and graceful curves. I knew every twist and turn already, just as I knew the battle-scars on the backs of my hands. The pattern was a part of me, forever seared into my mind. Blindfolded, I could have followed the Pattern's line without missing a step.
I entered the first curve and suddenly walking got really hard. My legs dragged; I forced myself to pick up each foot and put it down again. Sparks swirled around my boots, rising to my knees, and every hair on my body stood on end.
Don't stop.
One step, then another, then another.
Things got easier at the end of the curve, and I let out my breath in an explosive gasp. My head pounded. My shirt clung to my back, uncomfortable and clammy with sweat. Nothing I could do now, though. I couldn't exactly turn around and go back. Besides, I had come at least a third of the way.
After a brief period of easiness, the path started to grow hard again. Sparks swirled up to my waist. I seemed to be slogging through mud.
Another step. Then another. Then another.
My legs went numb. Then the numbness spread to my chest, and I had to force myself not only to walk, but to breathe. It would have been all too easy to give up, but I refused to take the easy way out. Dad needed me.
Rounding another curve, the numbness passed and I could move easily again. Blue sparks ghosted across my clothes and skin. I had the sensation of thousands of insects crawling over my body. I had never felt anything like it before.
Not much farther now.
Keep moving.
Halfway there.
I tucked down my head and pressed on. The path curved back upon itself, then straightened. Still I slogged on through what felt like miles of heavy mud that sucked and pulled at my feet.
Slowly, the end grew near. I could see my father's face clearly now. His open eyes stared up into space. Dead? Had I come for nothing? Then his eyes blinked—he was alive!
“Dad?” I gasped. “Dad—can you—hear me—?”
A crunching sound filled my ears. The hair on my neck and arms rose again. I had to force myself to take each step forward. If I stopped, I didn't think I would be able to get started again.
The path curved sharply, and all of a sudden I found I could walk almost normally. Gathering my strength, I strode forward as quickly as I could, but then a heaviness grew on me. I found it harder and harder to advance, as though chains now dragged on my arms and legs and chest. I might have been pulling a ten-ton weight.
Gritting my teeth, I pressed forward. One step. A second. A third. Each took more effort than the last. When I raised my hand, sparks poured like water from my skin.
Through!
Suddenly, I could walk again. Sparks dashed and flew all around me. I felt hot and cold, wet and dry, and my eyes burned with a fire that could not be quenched. I blinked hard many times.
One more curve.
Almost there.
Dizzy, I reeled through another curve, a short one. Then straight, then another curve.
It was the hardest yet. I could barely move, barely see, barely breathe. My skin froze, then boiled. Sparks blinded me. The very universe seemed to beat down upon my head and shoulders.
I concentrated on one foot at a time. As long as I kept moving, I drew closer to my goal. Just another inch at a time—anything to keep going—
I could barely see the Pattern. Unable to breathe, I used the last of my strength to take a final step.
Then I was through. I had made it.
My legs felt weak. Drawing on final reserves of strength I didn't know I had, I staggered to my father's side.
“Dad?” I said. It came out barely a whisper. “How about helping me out here?”
He didn't move. Somehow, I managed to kneel, then roll him over. I checked him for wounds, but he seemed whole—nothing worse than a slight bruise on the back of one hand.
“What's wrong, Dad?”
Slowly his lips moved. He seemed to be trying to speak.
I leaned close, straining to hear. He kept saying what sounded like, “Thellops… Thellops… Thellops…”
“Thellops?” I demanded. “What in the seven hells is that!”
He stared blindly off into space. His lips continued to move. Clearly he hadn't heard me. What could be wrong with him?
“Come on, Dad!” I said. I shook him. “Wake up! I can't get you out of here by myself! Dad!”
Still no response.
Grabbing him under the arms, I hauled him to his feet. Maybe he'd come out of it if I got him up and moving. His head lolled forward. When I draped his arm across my shoulders, he was so much dead weight. He made no effort to support himself.
“Attention!” I barked like a drill sergeant. “On your feet, soldier! Move!”
That would have gotten me up, no matter how hard or painful—as a soldier in King Elnar's army, obedience to orders had been drilled into me. You didn't make Lieutenant without it.
“Dad!” I said, urgently. “I need you awake now! Dad!”
I shook him again, but all he did was drool. Just great. Could things get any worse?
With nothing left to try, I slapped his face. He blinked and moaned. Then his eyes closed and opened several times in quick succession. He seemed to come out of his stupor enough to turn his head toward me.
“Can you stand?” I asked him.
“Not… real…” he mumbled.
“Of course I'm real. It's me—Oberon.”
“Imagining…”