Read Online Changeling (Illustrated) by Roger Zelazny - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Roger Zelazny
Ads: Link
branch many times before you reach your destination. There will be interesting side ways, fascinating sights, possibly even other travelers of the most peculiar sort. You may look, but do not stray. Follow the line. It will take you home. I—Wait.”
The old man rested his weight upon his staff, breathing deeply.
“The strain has been great,” he said. “Excuse me. I require medication.”
He produced a small vial from a pouch at his waist and gulped its contents.
“Lean forward,” he said, moments later.
Dan inclined his head, his shoulders. The staff came forward, issuing a blue nimbus which settled upon him and seemed to sink, warmly, within his skull. His thoughts danced wildly, and for a long moment he seemed trapped in the midst of an invisible crowd, everyone babbling without letup about him.
“The language of that place,” the man told him. “It will take awhile to sink in, but you have it now. You will speak slowly at first, but you will understand. Facility will follow shortly.”
“Who are you? What are you?” Dan asked.
“My name is Mor, and the time has come for me to leave you to follow that line. There has to be an exchange of approximately equivalent living mass if the transfer is to be permanent. I must depart before I lose one of the qualifications. Walk on! Find your own answers!”
Mor turned with surprising energy and vanished into the rippling prospect to the right, as if passing behind a curtain. Dan took a step after him and halted. The shifting montage that he faced was frightening, almost maddening to behold for too long. He transferred his gaze back to the road. The green line was steady beneath the miniature storms.
He looked behind and saw that the glittering way seemed much the same as it did before him. He took one step, then another, following the green line forward. There was nothing else for him to do.
As he walked, he tried to understand the things that Mor had told him. What power? What menace? What changeling step-brother? And what was expected of him at the green line’s end? Soon, he gave up. His head was still buzzing from the onslaught of voices. He wondered what Betty would think when he failed to show up at her place, what his father would feel at his disappearance.
He halted and gasped. It only just then reached the level of realization that if this strange story were true, then Michael was not his father.
His wrist throbbed and a small, golden whirlwind rose, to follow him, dog-like, for several paces.
He shifted the guitar case to his other hand and continued walking. As he did, he was taken by a small pattern in the mosaic ahead and to his left—a tiny, bright scene at which he stared. As he focussed his attention upon it, it grew larger, coming to dominate that entire field of vision, beginning to assume a three-dimensional quality.
Coming abreast of it, he saw that it had receded without losing any of its distinction. A side road now led directly toward it, and he realized that he could walk there in a matter of minutes.
He saw bright green creatures playing within a sparkling lake, blue mountains behind them, orange stands of stone rising from the water, serving as platforms upon which they rested and cavorted before diving back in again, brilliant sunlight playing over the entire prospect, giant red dragonflies wheeling and dipping above the lake’s surface with amazing delicacy of motion, floating flowers, like pale, six-pointed stars . . .
He found his feet moving in that direction. The call of the place grew stronger . . .
Something yellow-eyed, long-eared and silver-furred passed him on the right, running bipedally, nose twitching.
“Late again!” it seemed to say. “Holy shit! She’ll have my head, sure!”
It looked at him for an instant as it went by, its glance sliding past him along the way to the lake-scene.
“Don’t go there!” it seemed to yell after him. “They eat warmbloods alive!”
He halted and
The old man rested his weight upon his staff, breathing deeply.
“The strain has been great,” he said. “Excuse me. I require medication.”
He produced a small vial from a pouch at his waist and gulped its contents.
“Lean forward,” he said, moments later.
Dan inclined his head, his shoulders. The staff came forward, issuing a blue nimbus which settled upon him and seemed to sink, warmly, within his skull. His thoughts danced wildly, and for a long moment he seemed trapped in the midst of an invisible crowd, everyone babbling without letup about him.
“The language of that place,” the man told him. “It will take awhile to sink in, but you have it now. You will speak slowly at first, but you will understand. Facility will follow shortly.”
“Who are you? What are you?” Dan asked.
“My name is Mor, and the time has come for me to leave you to follow that line. There has to be an exchange of approximately equivalent living mass if the transfer is to be permanent. I must depart before I lose one of the qualifications. Walk on! Find your own answers!”
Mor turned with surprising energy and vanished into the rippling prospect to the right, as if passing behind a curtain. Dan took a step after him and halted. The shifting montage that he faced was frightening, almost maddening to behold for too long. He transferred his gaze back to the road. The green line was steady beneath the miniature storms.
He looked behind and saw that the glittering way seemed much the same as it did before him. He took one step, then another, following the green line forward. There was nothing else for him to do.
As he walked, he tried to understand the things that Mor had told him. What power? What menace? What changeling step-brother? And what was expected of him at the green line’s end? Soon, he gave up. His head was still buzzing from the onslaught of voices. He wondered what Betty would think when he failed to show up at her place, what his father would feel at his disappearance.
He halted and gasped. It only just then reached the level of realization that if this strange story were true, then Michael was not his father.
His wrist throbbed and a small, golden whirlwind rose, to follow him, dog-like, for several paces.
He shifted the guitar case to his other hand and continued walking. As he did, he was taken by a small pattern in the mosaic ahead and to his left—a tiny, bright scene at which he stared. As he focussed his attention upon it, it grew larger, coming to dominate that entire field of vision, beginning to assume a three-dimensional quality.
Coming abreast of it, he saw that it had receded without losing any of its distinction. A side road now led directly toward it, and he realized that he could walk there in a matter of minutes.
He saw bright green creatures playing within a sparkling lake, blue mountains behind them, orange stands of stone rising from the water, serving as platforms upon which they rested and cavorted before diving back in again, brilliant sunlight playing over the entire prospect, giant red dragonflies wheeling and dipping above the lake’s surface with amazing delicacy of motion, floating flowers, like pale, six-pointed stars . . .
He found his feet moving in that direction. The call of the place grew stronger . . .
Something yellow-eyed, long-eared and silver-furred passed him on the right, running bipedally, nose twitching.
“Late again!” it seemed to say. “Holy shit! She’ll have my head, sure!”
It looked at him for an instant as it went by, its glance sliding past him along the way to the lake-scene.
“Don’t go there!” it seemed to yell after him. “They eat warmbloods alive!”
He halted and
Similar Books
