The sky seemed brighter, too, and a steady hum filled their ears. Cutwood complained constantly of a loud buzz ing, despite his makeshift earmuffs. Wingover took to shielding his eyes with his hands, just to cut down on the intense glare he saw everywhere. The other gnomes found their special attributes becoming more and more onerous.
Roperig couldn't touch anything without his hands sticking.
He once accidentally scratched his nose, and it took an hour to free his fingers. Fitter fidgeted about like a hovering hum mingbird, moving with such speed that he seemed little more than a blur. He fell down a lot and continually bumped into other members of the party. Rainspot walked in a perpetual haze – a real fog that clung to his head and shoulders – his own private cloud. Moisture condensed on his face, and his ears and beard dripped nonstop.
Of all the gnomes, only Sighter exhibited no obvious ill effects. But Sturm noticed a subtle change in his expression;
Sighter's usually incisive gaze had given way to a hard smirk, as if he were listening to some lurid tale being whis pered in his ear. Sturm wasn't certain that the world was ready for a logical gnome.
Sturm worried about Kitiara, too. She kept ahead of the others, walking purposefully toward the waiting obelisk.
Her right arm was still slung across her chest, but her left hand, firmly clenched in a fist, rose and fell with each deter mined step. Each strike of her heels left a deep notch in the ground. Sturm wondered how much power she could bear.
He lost sight of Kitiara for a time among the pink spears and spidersticks. "Hello?" he called. "Kit, wait for us." There was no answer but the hive-hum that surrounded them.
Sturm spied Kitiara standing under an enormous toad stool. Pink spores rained lightly over her. Her hand was at her throat, and she was looking at something.
"Kit?" he said, touching her shoulder.
She flinched. "Sturm! I just noticed this." It was Tirolan's gem, the amethyst arrowhead that had turned clear after Kit had used it to free herself from the spell of the goblin rob bers. She held the crystal out for Sturm to see. It was blood red, like a heartsfire ruby.
"When did that happen?" he asked.
"At Rapaldo's palace, I saw that the gem was turning pale pink. The color has deepened since sunrise."
"Get rid of it, Kit. It's a receptacle of magic. It too may be affected by the atmosphere of Lunitari. Nothing good can come of it."
"No!" she said, slipping the gem back under her mail shirt. I intend to keep it. Have you so soon forgotten how
Tirolan helped us?"
"No, I haven't forgotten. But the gem may be filled with a different power now, a power you know nothing about.
Drop it on the ground, Kit, please! If you don't, the conse quences may be horrible."
"I will not!" she said, her dark eyes flashing. "You're a fool, Sturm Brightblade – a frightened little boy. I'm not afraid of power. I welcome it!"
Sturm was about to argue back, but the file of gnomes appeared. He was not willing to provoke a confrontation in front of the little people. There was a thinly veiled rage in
Kitiara, and to push her at this juncture would lead nowhere.
"Wingover says the obelisk should soon be in view for all of us," said Roperig. His right hand was stuck to Fitter's back. The apprentice was running in place, his short legs nearly invisible with motion. Roperig saw Sturm's startled expression and added, "Fit ter's having a hard time standing still. I'm the only one who can keep hold of him."
"How are the rest of you?" Sturm asked. Cutwood and
Wingover, muffled and blindfolded respectively, gallantly waved their good spirits. Rainspot looked sodden and for lorn under his cloud, but avowed that he felt well.
Sighter cleared his throat and arched an eyebrow in a maddeningly superior way. "It is evident that the closer we get to the obelisk, the more intensely the neutral power of
Lunitari infects us," he said.
"Let's push on," said Sturm.
They continued on for about an hour, when they came upon a path, cleared from the strange jungle. And where the cleared path met the horizon, there stood a tall spire – the mysterious obelisk of Lunitari. They were still some ten miles away, but the land sloped downward toward the obe lisk at an easy grade. There were no other features to over shadow it.
"Looks like we're expected," said Sturm.
"The Voice?" Fitter wondered.
"Who else?" Sighter replied. He hooked his thumbs under his suspenders. "If I'm right, we're going to meet a very remarkable being. Someone who'll make all the other won ders of Lunitari seem like cheap carnival tricks."
The obelisk grew from a slim red line to a robust tower five hundred feet tall. It had a curiously striped appearance, caused by thin black bands that alternated with the red stone of its walls. The closer the explorers came, the higher the grand tower seemed to thrust into the sky.
Cutwood broke the long silence. He said, "Have you noticed how the plants lean toward the tower?" It was true.
All of them, even the spiny puffballs, were bent so that they faced the great obelisk.
"Like lilies turned to the sun," surmised Kitiara.
They halted fifty yards from the base of the obelisk. The red marble sides were beautifully dressed and squared, unlike the crude masonry of the tree-men's village. The black bands between the courses of marble were mortar of some kind. On ground level, facing the explorers, was an open entrance, a notch cut in the smooth stone. Inside was only darkness. At regular intervals, the obelisk's walls were pierced by long, narrow windows.
"What do we do now?" asked Fitter in a very small voice.
Come closer!
Sturm and Kitiara stepped back, reaching for their weap ons. "Who said that?" called Sturm.
I, the Keeper of the New Lives, said a soothing bass voice within their own heads.
"Where are you?" Kitiara demanded.
In the edifice before you. Come closer.
"We'll stay right here, thank you," said Cutwood.
Ah, you are afraid. Is mortal flesh so dear that you would ignore the opportunity to feast your eyes on a rare and won derful sight, namely myself? That the humans would be afraid I did not doubt, but I expected better of you gnomes.
"We saw a colleague die not long ago, so you'll excuse us if we're a bit cautious," Wingover said.
You require proof of my good will? Behold.
A small shape stirred in the dim doorway. It emerged into the light of day, stopped and waved. It looked like Stutts.
"Gears and sprockets!" Fitter crowed, dashing forward.
Of course, he dragged Roperig with him. Cutwood and
Wingover stumbled after them, while Rainspot wandered over in a fog, with Sighter chuckling at his side.
"Wait," said Sturm. "It could be an illusion."
But it was not an illusion. The gnomes engulfed Stutts, yelling with unrestrained delight. Birdcall and Flash appeared in the door and leaped on the pile of happy gnomes. After a heartily bruising hello, Stutts extricated himself from the press and toddled to Sturm and Kitiara. He shook Sturm's hand solidly and expressed concern for Kiti ara's bandaged shoulder.
"It is you," she said, pinching his ear.
"It is, and I am quite well, thank you. We've been waiting for you all for days."
"What happened to your stutter?" Sturm asked. Suspi cion made him blunt.
"Oh, that! It's gone, you know, poof! The Keeper says it's due to the leveling effect of the magic forces present on Luni tari." Stutts peered behind the humans. "Where's Bell crank?"
Sturm laid a hand on the gnome's shoulder. "I fear that we have grave news, my friend."
"Grave? How -?"
Are your fears alleviated? intruded the voice.
"For now," Kitiara said. "May we have our flying ship back, please?"
Don't be so hasty! We've not been properly introduced.
Please come in, won't you?
"Explain later," Stutts said quickly. He took Kitiara's and
Sturm's hands and led them to the door. "We've had the most tremendous adventure since you left to prospect for ore," he reported. "The Keeper has treated us marvelously."
"Who is this Keeper? Where is he?" asked Kitiara.
"Come and see for yourselves."
Stutts let go of their hands. Sturm and Kitiara stepped through the deep door-notch into the shadowed interior of the grand obelisk.
Sunlight filtered down from the slit windows higher up in the obelisk. In the center of the floor, illuminated by the sunlight, sat the flying ship Cloudmaster. The ethereal air bag had shrunk to half its previous size, just a soft lump in many folds of loose netting. The wings had been detached from the hull, no doubt to allow the craft to fit through the door in the obelisk. The leather wings were neatly folded and lying on the red marble floor beside the ship. Clicking in the darkness beyond the Cloudmaster proved the presence of Micones.