but the wood did not so much as crack. Similar efforts by the others, including Sturm, showed no increase in strength. Kitiara beamed. "Looks like you're the sole beneficiary of this gift, whatever it is," said Sturm evenly. "At least it will be useful. Can you free the cart?" She snapped her fingers and swaggered around the rear of the cart. Kitiara flattened one hand against the cargo box and shoved. The cart leaped out of its ruts, almost running Fitter and Wingover down. "Careful!" said Sturm. "You've got to learn to handle this newfound strength, or you may hurt someone." Kitiara wasn't listening. She ran her hands up and down her arms again and again, as if to feel the power radiating from her strangely augmented muscles. "I don't know why it happened or how, but I like it," she said. Sturm noticed a new swagger in her walk. First his weird dream (it had been so real), and now Kit's new strength. All was not natural on the red moon. Four hours later the hills were well within range. Close up, they had an oddly soft appearance, rounded, as though a giant hand had smoothed them. Kitiara took over the lead when Sturm's step faltered. He was tired, and his meager breakfast of beans and water wasn't enough to keep him at his best. In fact, as the marchers approached six and a half hours out from the Cloudrnaster, Kitiara ran ahead to be the first to reach the hills. "Kit, wait! Come back!" Sturm called. She waved and sprinted on. The gnomes let the cart coast to a stop at the foot of a hill. Kitiara shouted and waved from the top. She skidded down the slope, coming to a halt by bumping into Sturm. He caught her arms. Panting, she smiled at him. "You can see a long way from up there," she gasped. "The hills go on for miles, but there are wide trails running between them." "You shouldn't go off on your own like that," Sturm said. Kitiara lost her smile and shook herself free of his grasp. "I can take care of myself," she said coolly. The gnomes flopped down where they stood. Uphill tramping had considerably dampened their ardor for the march. Against all advice, they rapidly drank up their meager water supply and were soon wishing for more. "If only we could find a spring," said Wingover. "Or if it rains, we could spread our blankets and catch the water," said Sighter. "Well, Rainspot? Might it rain?" The weather seer, lying flat on his back, waved one hand feebly. "I don't think it has ever rained here," he said flatly. "Though I wish to Reorx it would." At his words, a wisp of vapor, no denser than steam, abruptly formed over the exhausted gnome. The vapor expanded, thickened, and turned into a small white cloud, three feet wide. The gnomes and humans watched, speechless, as the white cloud went murky gray. A single droplet fell on the motionless Rainspot. "That's not funny," he complained. Rainspot's eyes opened in time to catch the tiny shower that fell from his personal rain cloud. "Hydrodynamics!" he exclaimed. The other gnomes crowded in under the little cloud, their round, upturned faces ecstatic as the raindrops pelted them. Sturm came over. He swept a hand through it and it came out sopping wet. Then, as quickly and mysteriously as it had come, the cloud faded away. "This smacks of magic," Sturm said. "I didn't do anything," Rainspot insisted. "I just wished it would rain." "Maybe you have the power to grant wishes now," said Wingover. "Like Kitiara has gained strength." The gnomes took up this theory and besieged their poor colleague with a barrage of requests. Wingover wanted a rib roast. Cutwood asked for a bushel of crisp apples. Bellcrank wanted a roast pig and apples. Roperig and Fitter wanted muffins – with raisins, of course. "Stop, stop!" Rainspot pleaded tearfully. He couldn't bear so many demands at once. Sturm shooed the shouting gnomes away. Only Sighter remained, staring at the weeping Rainspot. "If you can wish for anything, wish for a switch to repair the ship with," he said sagely. The others – Sturm and Kitiara included – were surprised by his wise suggestion. "I-I wish for a new switch to repair our engine," Rainspot said loudly. "Made of copper," said Cutwood. "Iron," muttered Bellcrank. "Shhh!" said Kitiara. Nothing happened. "Maybe you have to use the same formula each time," said Wingover. "How exactly did you wish for rain?" "I said something about Reorx." Reorx, creator of the gnomish race, was the only deity the gnomes worshiped. "So try again and mention Reorx," said Sighter. Rainspot drew himself up – all thirty inches of him – and declared, "I wish to Reorx that we had a copper -" "Iron." "- switch to repair our engine with!" Nothing happened.. "You're useless," said Bellcrank. "Worse than useless," added Cutwood. "Shut up!" Kitiara snapped. "He tried, didn't he?" "I'm sorry," the weather seer said between sniffles. "I wish it would rain again. Then everyone would be happy." Hardly had he said this than a new cloud formed over his head. The rain poured down on Rainspot, making a puddle in the red dirt of Lunitari. It seemed insulting somehow, as if Reorx were teasing the gnome. Rainspot then did a rare thing: He got mad. "Thunder and lightning!" he cried. The cloud flasherd once, and a puny clump of thunder sounded. "Ha, some storm!" said Roperig. "It proves one thing," said Sighter. "The limits of Rainspot's power. He can make it rain. That's all." "Useless, useless," said Bellcrank. "Shut up," said Kitiara. "Rainspot's ability is very useful." The gnomes regarded her blankly. "We need water, don't we?" As usual, once the gnomes were sparked off, they embraced a new concept with exasperating enthusiasm. Planks were torn off the sides of the cart and pounded into the ground with Cutwood's mallet. Roperig ripped their blankets into long triangles and sewed these together, leaving a hole in the center of the resulting circle of cloth. The edges of the blanket were nailed to the upright planks. One of Fitter's canvas buckets was put under the hole in the center of the blanket. "Rainspot, sit in the middle and wish for rain," said Wingover. Rainspot complied, and the water was captured by the improvised funnel and led to the waiting bucket. Rainspot sat on the soggy blanket, soaked and bedraggled, wishing over and over for rain. "I wish for rain." The cloud formed and sprinkled him. "Wish for rain." Water ran in the bucket. The gnomes changed buckets and filled it, too. "Rain," said the sodden, tired gnome. Poor Rainspot didn't enjoy it at all, but he wished for plenty of water to save them from the agonies of thirst. "Happy to do my part," he said flatly when they finally let him off the blanket, squishing in his shoes all the way. "I wonder who will get it next," Wingover said as they plodded into the first gully. "Get what?" said Bellcrank. "We seem to be acquiring new powers," Sighter said. "Kitiara's strength, Rainspot's rainmaking. The rest of us may get new abilities, too." Sturm pondered Sighter's claim. His dream (if it was a dream) had been so vivid. Was it part of this mysterious process, too? He asked Sighter if he could think of a reason why they should be affected like this. "Hard to say," said the gnome. "Likely, there is something on Lunitari that has done this to them." "It's the air," said Bellcrank. "Some effluvium in the air." "Piffle! It's all due to the red rays reflecting off the ground. Red light always has strange effects on living creatures. Remember the experiments done by The-Clumsy-ButCurious-Doctor-Who-Wears-The-Tinted-Lenses-InFrames-On-His-Face -" "Hush!" said Kitiara. She held up a hand. The others watched expectantly. "Do you feel it, Rainspot?" she asked. "Yes, ma'am. The sun's coming up." A brace of shooting stars raced across the heavens from west to east. The crests of the red hills glowed, and a subtle ringing sensation filled the air. They all felt it. The line of sunlight crept down the hillsides toward the shadowed ravines. As the explorers watched, the soft, spongy covering of the hills writhed. Bumps appeared in the turf. The bumps moved in an unpleasantly animal fashion, twisting and swelling under the crimson carpet. The explorers had to hop about to avoid the moving bumps. Then a single spear of pale pink poked through the turf. It grew longer and thicker, rotating in slow circles as it pushed itself toward the sunlight. "What is it?" breathed Fitter. "I think it's a plant," Cutwood replied. More pink spears bored through the ground and climbed on wine-colored stalks. Other bumps erupted into different types of flora. Fat, knobby puffballs sprang up and inflated themselves. Carmine sticks popped after growing straight out of the turf, and dozens of spiderlike flowers floated to the ground from their ruptured stems. Toadstools with purple spots on top and lovely rose gills underneath emerged and grew visibly as the explorers looked on. By the time the sun shone fully into the ravine, every inch of the hillsides was covered with weird, pulsating life. Only a narrow track at the bottom of the ravine, still shadowed by the surrounding hills, was clear of the speedily growing plants. "An instant forest," said Sighter. "More like an instant jungle," said Sturm, observing the clogged path ahead of them. He drew his sword. "We'll have to cut our way through." Kitiara drew her sword. "It's an insult to honest steel," she said, eyeing the garish plants with distaste, "but it has to be done." She raised her arm and slashed into the growth crowding the path on the right. With her greater strength, she had no difficulty hewing the pink spears and spidersticks cleanly off. Kitiara stepped back. The chopped-off parts lay on the ground, wriggling. The stumps oozed red sap that looked amazingly like blood. She noticed her sword was smeared with the same fluid. Holding the blade near her nose, she sniffed. "I've been in many battles," she said. "I know the smell of blood, whether it be human, dwarven, or goblin." She dropped the blade from her face. "This is blood!" The gnomes thought this was terribly interesting. They bunched together over the bleeding stumps, taking samples of the bloodsap. Bellcrank picked up the shorn length of a spiderstick. It popped, and eight white flowers burst out. Bellcrank yowled in pain. Each tiny flower had ejected a thorn into his face. "Hold still," Rainspot said. With a pair of bone tweezers, he plucked the thorns from his colleague's face. The gnomes filled fifteen jars and boxes with specimens of the Lunitarian plants. Sturm and Kitiara had a head-to-head talk and opted to travel a little farther. If they didn't find any ore by nightfall, they would return to the ship. Steeling themselves, they started hacking. The plants groaned and screamed; when severed, they bled and twitched horribly. After a mile of this, Kitiara said, "This is worse than the massacre of Valkinord Marsh!" "At least they don't appear to suffer long," Sturm said, but the screams and blood were wearing on him. The gnomes wandered through the path the humans had cut, poking and sniffing and measuring the dying plants. For them it was, as Cutwood said, "better than a train of gears." The trail led down a broad draw. Being well shaded from the low sun, there were fewer plants growing there, and Sturm called for a break. Kitiara borrowed a bucket from the gnomes' cart and filled it with rainwater. She dipped a soft rag in the water and wiped the sticky bloodsap Erom her blade. The sap dissolved easily. She lent Sturm the rag and he cleaned his weapon. "You know," she said, as he rubbed the sap off his sword hilt, "I'm no coward, and I'm certainly no delicate lady who faints at the sight of blood, but this place is disgusting! What kind of world is it where plants grow before your eyes and bleed when they're cut?" "How's your sword arm?" Sturm asked. "How does it feel? I noticed that you're not even breathing hard. Look at me; I'm tired, as you should be, having swung a heavy sword for more than a mile through that weird jungle!"