“Because I am not of your world, and so I do not respond to your madness.”
“What insanity is this?” roared the wolverine. “Another lie!” His face twisted violently. “It will have to be something special for you, then. Something unique. Something I have never tried before. Something even more devastating than your heart’s desire.”
“No, it won’t. This madness has to stop. Not only for our sake and for the rest of the world but for your own sake as well, Braglob. It doesn’t matter what you do from now on because . . .”
And he began to sing, “We’re not gonna take it. We’re not gonna take it. We’re not gonna take it anymorrre . . .!”
Dee Snider and the rest of the gang would’ve been proud.
Braglob let out a tremulous howl. At the same time the deep-throated hum and the song of the perambulator grew louder still. Jon-Tom sang on, aware that Talea was tugging at his shirt.
“Jon-Tom—look!”
There was something in the brilliantly lit chamber besides the perambulator. Gneechees. Not just one or two this time but a veritable snowstorm of them, each as bright and intense as the perambulator itself. And for the first time outside of a dream he found he could look at them directly instead of just out of the corner of his eye.
They danced in the air, coalescing until they’d formed a laser-pure spiral that wove its way around the perambulator. They appeared to be tiptoeing on its fringes, tangent to but not quite touching the substance of the apparition that it was. They had been drawn to this place by Jon-Tom’s spellsinging and remained to luxuriate in the instability generated by the perambulator.
Jon-Tom was growing hoarse trying to match his output to that of the otherworldly traveler. The sound battered at his body as much as at his ears. The music of the perambulator raged through his soul. He couldn’t go on much longer.
So he threw the dice, took the chance, and tried to draw to an inside magical straight by changing his song in mid-refrain, switching abruptly (as abruptly as the perambulator, in fact) from a defiant ballad to the sweetest strong song he knew.
Braglob was ill-prepared for the sudden shift in tactics. The wolverine staggered away from his wailing wall, fought to draw himself upright. You could see the change come over him. His expression softened. His body relaxed as the tenseness drained out of his muscles. Most revealing of all, the wild, undisciplined stare began to fade from his eyes. Gone was the terrified, frozen glare; gone the hopeless, defensive posture.
He blinked once, twice, did Braglob the Mad, and smiled at Jon-Tom.
Behind him there came an explosion of light and sound. Even though he was looking away from it, the sudden pulse of energy temporarily blinded him. Gneechees fled the chamber like a million retreating miniature suns. The humming and whistling of the panpipes retreated before a single reverberating note like the lowest register of some gigantic organ.
Jon-Tom made himself turn, heedless of the consequences. The single devastating flash of light had faded, and he could see that the perambulator had been transformed a last time, into a crystalline geometric conglomerate so utterly perfect, so heart-stoppingly beautiful that he thought he would burst into tears.
He turned away just in time. A second energy pulse even more powerful than the first lit the walls. Jon-Tom felt himself lifted off his feet by the sheer pressure of light. He saw himself turning, tumbling, doing a slow somersault in the air, and bouncing gently off the far wall.
The organ pedal faded with the light, and so did his consciousness.
XIV
Calm. It was so calm, he thought as he regained his senses. It was quiet in the chamber, but in his mind he still heard that climactic final note, felt the photons lifting him off the ground and shoving him against the stones. Yet as he picked himself slowly off the floor and checked his bones, he discovered that there was no reminder of that hard contact, nothing broken, not so much as a bruise to indicate where he’d struck the wall. Even his clothing was undamaged.
A small shape lay crumpled nearly, lithe and familiar. It let out a sob. He stumbled over to kneel beside it. “Talea.”
She was lying on her belly. He rolled her over, and she grabbed him tightly with both hands. He winced, having forgotten how strong she was. Then she recognized him and loosened her grip.
“Jon-Tom?”
“You’re all right?”
She did not reply immediately, as though the question required some careful consideration. “I guess so. I shouldn’t be. I think I bounced headfirst off the ceiling, like a ball in a game of whist.” She sat up without his aid. “But I feel okay. Just a little dazed. What happened?”
“The perambulator went away. It didn’t go quietly, but I think it went joyfuDy. By breaking Braglob’s madness we broke his control over it.” He was looking past her, toward the center of the now-empty chamber. “I think the perambulator, in its way, was saying good-bye to us as it departed. Or maybe it was nothing more than abstract noise. I guess we’ll never know.”
Their companions were slowly picking themselves off the floor. Clothahump was examining the air beneath the dome. Protected and cushioned by his shell, he’d recovered first. Mudge was brushing himself off while Dormas was trying to untangle her legs from Colin, who’d been blown into her by the force of the perambulator’s departure.
And there was one more who was recovering rapidly from the shock. Jon-Tom left Talea to cautiously confront their nemesis.
Braglob was flexing his muscles, testing first his legs and then his mighty arms. He appeared clear-eyed and alert.
“How do you feel?”
“Very strange, man.” The wolverine lifted the hem of what once had been a fine piece of clothing. “Why am I clad in rags like this? Wait—I remember now. Yes, I remember.” He raised his eyes to meet Jon-Tom’s. “Something about changing the world. I was going to change the world so that I would feel comfortable with it.”
“But you don’t have to do that anymore, do you? There’s no longer any reason to live in a crazy world because you’re no longer unbalanced yourself. You’re cured, Braglob. Your madness departed with the perambulator. A little spellsinging goes a long way.”
Mudge had rejoined Colin, leaned close to whisper to the koala. “Cured, ‘e says. Look at ‘em standin’ there grinnin’ at each other. If you ask me, the both of ‘em are nuts.”
Braglob listened, and as he listened, he was nodding slowly. “It is true. I don’t remember exactly what I was doing or why. I remember only that I was afraid. I’ve always been afraid. Eventually my fears drove me from my family, my friends, my home. To this place, where I resolved to deal with my fears by changing the world. I had to do that, don’t you see? It was the only way.
“My companions laughed at and tormented me until I fled to this remote region to escape their taunts. Even the smallest citizens, the rats and the mice and voles, threw things at me and chased me from their company. So I came here to practice my art. I studied hard. And I trapped the perambulator! Something the books said could not be done. I, Braglob, did this,” He searched the chamber behind Jon-Tom. “And now it is gone isn’t it?”
Jon-Tom nodded. “Gone like your madness and the fear that drove you mad. You couldn’t live with your private terrors, could you? You couldn’t deal with being a wolverine and a coward at the same time.”
“You understand, then. But I am no longer fearful. I feel as I should. The fears are gone, every one of them, along with the pain and the hurt that was with me every day, here.” He rubbed the back of his head and neck. “I feel—normal.” His smile vanished.