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Authors: John Stockmyer
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the decision
to be made about what to take with him.
The first time he'd blundered to the
"other side" he'd brought nothing from his own world except his
clothes and pocket change -- both handicaps in a place that had
never seen the like.
On the second trip, he'd allowed
himself a butane lighter. Just a lighter. And had found that, in a
world of Magically cool fire, real fire was devastating.
Not this time.
After some thought, he'd made the
decision to forgo advanced-world aids, the people of this backward
place with no defense against "scientific magic."
Anyway, the plan was to get in. Get
Platinia settled. Expose Ellen to the curing influence of the
"other reality's" light. And get Ellen out.
There was a sound and the hint of
shadow entering the room. Platinia. Her small face drifting in the
darkness like a white balloon.
As instructed, she had a robe for
Ellen. Shoes.
"See anyone?" John asked, keeping his
voice down in the echoey tower.
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Slaveys. Some slaveys."
"The regular household
staff?"
Platinia nodded.
"Did you talk to any of them?" A shake
of her head. "Anyone on this level?"
"No."
"Soldiers? Guards?"
Another head shake.
John breathed easier. He'd hoped this
would be the case, that Pfnaravin had gone back to his home band of
Malachite.
There was another sound in the room.
Ellen. Drawing a deep breath. She was "coming out of
it."
"Ellen," John said gently, stepping to
her side, taking her hand.
No response, blue eyes showing fear,
pupil's wide, her other hand over her mouth to contain her
terror.
Not wanting to frighten her further,
John put his arm around her. "It's all right, Ellen. I'm here. So
is Platinia.
John knew the effect of trans-world
travel. The dumbfounded disbelief that such a thing had happened.
The shock of finding yourself in an alien environment. Even if you
thought it was possible to enter another world, even if you'd been
told it would happen, you couldn't get your mind around the reality
of the experience.
Looking up, John saw that Platinia had
retreated to the shadows, the girl of little help.
"I ...." Ellen was coming out of shock
at last. "I'm ... here?"
"Yes"
"Where?"
John had briefed her, of course.
Besides the physical manifestations, she was suffering the
psychological and mental effects of the trip. "You're at the other
end of the "pipeline." You're here with me, high up in one of the
corner turrets of what the locals call Hero Castle. In the Band of
Stil-de-grain."
All nonsense information to a person
as stunned as Ellen.
"I feel ..." She let that thought
dangle in the mental confusion of her mind.
"Disoriented?"
She nodded, her gold hair sheened by
reflections from the shaft of yellow light pooling the floor to her
left.
Ellen was dressed in the same clothing
she'd been wearing when she'd come to consult John. Not bad,
actually. Rather "robe" looking. When she'd recovered a little
more, he'd have Platinia take her into a room off the hall to get
her dressed in the genuine Stil-de-grain robe Platinia
brought.
"I feel ... airy." Ellen floated her
arms over her head, like a dancer in a classical ballet.
"Do you remember me telling you that's
the way you'd feel? Because of lighter gravity, you are lighter.
Also stronger than you'd be at home. At least for awhile. You get
used to gravitational changes in time. That's all it takes.
Time.
"Other than weightless, how do you
feel?" She just shook her head.
At least Ellen had understood this
question, floating a light-weight hand to her forehead. "I ...
can't tell. I think I feel ... better ....
Better, but not well, John thought. If
the doctors of his own world couldn't cure her, John had to hope
that the healing magic in this world's light -- over time -- would
eliminate what was causing her fever.
Meanwhile, John would see that
Platinia was settled in before John and a healthy Ellen returned to
their own world.
With Ellen well again, Paul would also
recover.
Leaving the final question:
to be made about what to take with him.
The first time he'd blundered to the
"other side" he'd brought nothing from his own world except his
clothes and pocket change -- both handicaps in a place that had
never seen the like.
On the second trip, he'd allowed
himself a butane lighter. Just a lighter. And had found that, in a
world of Magically cool fire, real fire was devastating.
Not this time.
After some thought, he'd made the
decision to forgo advanced-world aids, the people of this backward
place with no defense against "scientific magic."
Anyway, the plan was to get in. Get
Platinia settled. Expose Ellen to the curing influence of the
"other reality's" light. And get Ellen out.
There was a sound and the hint of
shadow entering the room. Platinia. Her small face drifting in the
darkness like a white balloon.
As instructed, she had a robe for
Ellen. Shoes.
"See anyone?" John asked, keeping his
voice down in the echoey tower.
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Slaveys. Some slaveys."
"The regular household
staff?"
Platinia nodded.
"Did you talk to any of them?" A shake
of her head. "Anyone on this level?"
"No."
"Soldiers? Guards?"
Another head shake.
John breathed easier. He'd hoped this
would be the case, that Pfnaravin had gone back to his home band of
Malachite.
There was another sound in the room.
Ellen. Drawing a deep breath. She was "coming out of
it."
"Ellen," John said gently, stepping to
her side, taking her hand.
No response, blue eyes showing fear,
pupil's wide, her other hand over her mouth to contain her
terror.
Not wanting to frighten her further,
John put his arm around her. "It's all right, Ellen. I'm here. So
is Platinia.
John knew the effect of trans-world
travel. The dumbfounded disbelief that such a thing had happened.
The shock of finding yourself in an alien environment. Even if you
thought it was possible to enter another world, even if you'd been
told it would happen, you couldn't get your mind around the reality
of the experience.
Looking up, John saw that Platinia had
retreated to the shadows, the girl of little help.
"I ...." Ellen was coming out of shock
at last. "I'm ... here?"
"Yes"
"Where?"
John had briefed her, of course.
Besides the physical manifestations, she was suffering the
psychological and mental effects of the trip. "You're at the other
end of the "pipeline." You're here with me, high up in one of the
corner turrets of what the locals call Hero Castle. In the Band of
Stil-de-grain."
All nonsense information to a person
as stunned as Ellen.
"I feel ..." She let that thought
dangle in the mental confusion of her mind.
"Disoriented?"
She nodded, her gold hair sheened by
reflections from the shaft of yellow light pooling the floor to her
left.
Ellen was dressed in the same clothing
she'd been wearing when she'd come to consult John. Not bad,
actually. Rather "robe" looking. When she'd recovered a little
more, he'd have Platinia take her into a room off the hall to get
her dressed in the genuine Stil-de-grain robe Platinia
brought.
"I feel ... airy." Ellen floated her
arms over her head, like a dancer in a classical ballet.
"Do you remember me telling you that's
the way you'd feel? Because of lighter gravity, you are lighter.
Also stronger than you'd be at home. At least for awhile. You get
used to gravitational changes in time. That's all it takes.
Time.
"Other than weightless, how do you
feel?" She just shook her head.
At least Ellen had understood this
question, floating a light-weight hand to her forehead. "I ...
can't tell. I think I feel ... better ....
Better, but not well, John thought. If
the doctors of his own world couldn't cure her, John had to hope
that the healing magic in this world's light -- over time -- would
eliminate what was causing her fever.
Meanwhile, John would see that
Platinia was settled in before John and a healthy Ellen returned to
their own world.
With Ellen well again, Paul would also
recover.
Leaving the final question:
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