“Now that you mention it,” he said, “I remember suddenly being where I was with a chance to race you and feeling that we'd fight or something afterward.”
“What're your feelings on that now?”
“We've never gotten along all that well. But I don't like the idea of being used like this either.”
“You willing to call a truce till I can see my way through this game and out of here?”
“What's in it for me?” he asked.
“I will find a way out of this damned place, Jurt. Come along and give me a hand-or at least don't get in the way-and I'll take you with me when I go.”
He laughed.
“I'm not sure there is a way out of here,” he said, “unless the Powers release us.”
“Then you've nothing to lose,” I told him, “and you'll probably even get to see me die trying.”
“Do you really know both kinds of magic-Pattern and Logrus?” he asked.
“Yeah. But I'm a lot better at Logrus.”
“Can you use either against its source?”
“That's a very intriguing metaphysical point, and I don't know the answer,” I said, “and I'm not sure I'll find out. It's dangerous to invoke the Powers here. So all I'm left with is a few hung spells. I don't think it's magic that'll get us out of here.”
“What, then?”
“I'm not certain. I am sure that I won't see the full picture till I get to the end of this trail, though.”
“Well, hell-I don't know. This doesn't seem the healthiest place for me to spend my time. On the other hand, what if it's the only place something like me can have an existence? What if you find me a door and I step through it and melt?”
“If the Pattern-ghosts can manifest in Shadow, I'd guess you can, too. Those of Dworkin and Oberon came to me on the outside before I came to this place.”
“That's encouraging. Would you try it if it were you?”
“You bet your life,” I said.
He snorted.
“I get the point. I'll go a ways with you and see what happens. I'm not promising to help, but I won't sabotage you.”
I held out my hand, and he shook his head.
“Let's not get carried away,” he told me. “If my word's no good without a handshake, it's no good with one, is it?”
“I guess not.”
“And I've never had a great desire to shake hands with you.”
“Sorry I asked,” I said. “Would you mind telling me why, though? I've always wondered.”
He shrugged.
“Why does there always have to be a reason?” he said.
“The alternative is irrationality,” I replied.
“Or privacy,” he responded, turning away.
I commenced walking the trail once more. Shortly Jurt fell into step beside me. We walked for a long while in silence. One day I may learn when to keep my mouth shut or to quit when I'm ahead. Same thing.
The trail ran straight for a time but seemed to vanish not too far ahead. When we neared the point of vanishment, I saw why: The trail curved behind a low prominence. We followed this turning and met with another, shortly thereafter. Soon we had entered upon a regular; series of switchbacks, realizing quickly that they were mitigating a fairly steep descent. As we proceeded down this turning way, I suddenly became aware of a brigh squiggle, hanging in the middle distance. Jurt raised his hand, pointing at it, and began, “What..?” just as it became apparent that it was the continuation of our trail, rising. At this, an instant reorientation occurred, and I realized that we were descending into what seemed a massive pit. And the air seemed to have grown somewhat cooler.
We continued our descent, and after a time something cold and moist touched the back of my right hand. I looked down in time to see a snowflake melting in the twilight glow which surrounded us. Moments later several more breezed by. A little after that we became aware of a larger brightness, far below.
I don't know what it is either, Frakir pulsed into my mind.
Thanks, I thought strongly back at her, having decided against advising Jurt of her presence.
Down. Down and around. Back. Back and forth. The temperature continued to decline. Snowflakes flitted. Arrays of rocks in the wall we now descended took on a bit of glitter.
Oddly, I didn't realize what it was until the first time I slipped.
“Ice!” Jurt announced suddenly, half toppling and catching himself up against the stone.
A distant sighing sound occurred, and it grew and grew, nearing us. It was not until it arrived, with a great buffeting gust, that we knew it to be a wind. And cold. It fled past like the breath of an ice age, and I raised my cloak against it. It followed us, softer thereafter, yet persistent, as we continued our descent.
By the time we reached the bottom it was damn cold, and the steps were either fully frosted over or carved of ice. The wind blew a steady, mournful note, and flakes of snow or pellets of ice came and went.
“Miserable climate!” Jurt growled, teeth chattering.
“I didn't think ghosts were susceptible to the mundane,” I said.
“Ghost, hell'“ he observed. “I feel the same as I always did. You'd think whatever sent me fully dressed to cross your trail might at least have provided for this eventuality.
“And this place isn't that mundane,” he added. “They want us somewhere, you'd think they might have provided a shortcut. As it is, we'll be damaged merchandise by the time we get there.”
“I don't really believe that either the Pattern or the Logrus has that much power in this place,” I told him. “I'd just as soon they stayed out of our way entirely.”
Our trail led outward across a gleaming plain-so flat and so gleaming that I feared it to consist entirely of ice. Nor was I incorrect.
“Looks slippery,” Jurt said. “I'm going to shapeshift my feet, make them broader.”
“It'll destroy your boots and leave you with cold feet,” I said. “Why not just shift some of your weight downward, lower your center of gravity?”
“Always got an answer,” he began sullenly. Then, “But this time you're right,” he finished.
We stood there for several minutes as he grew shorter, more squat.
“Aren't you going to shift yourself ?” he asked.
“I'll take my chances holding my center. I can move faster this way,” I said.
“You can fall on your ass that way, too.”
“We'll see.”
We started out. We held our balance. The winds were stronger away from the wall we had descended..The surface of our icy trail, however, was not so slick as it had appeared on distant inspection. There were small' ripples and ridges to it, adequate to provide some traction. The air burned its way into my lungs; flakes were beaten into swirling snow devil towers which fled like eccentric tops across out way It was a bluish glow which emanated from the trail, tinting those flakes which came within its ambit. We hiked for perhaps a quarter mile before a new series of ghostly images began. The first appeared to be myself, sprawled across a heap of armor back at the chapel; the second was Deirdre beneath a lamppost, looking at her watch.
“What?” Jurt asked, as they came and went in a matter of instants.
“I didn't know the first time I saw them, and I still don't know,” I answered, “though I thought you might be one of them when we first began our race. They come and go-at random, it would seem-with no special reason that I can figure.”
The next was what appeared to be a dining room, a bowl of flowers on the table. There were no people in the room. There and gone—
No. Not entirely. It went away, but the flowers remained, there on the surface of the ice. I halted, then walked out toward them.
Merle, I don't know about leaving the trail...
Oh, shit, I responded, moving toward a slab of ice which reminded me of the Stonehenge-like area back where I'd come aboard, incongruous flashes of color near its base.
There were a number of them-roses of many sorts. I stooped and picked one up. Irs color was almost silver...