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tempted to go chasing after Hosea himself, just on the off-chance that he
might be able to find out what this was all about.
But, no, that wouldn't do at all. And it wasn't just that he wasn't a kid
anymore, or because of the episodes of angina that had
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Hidden Ways 3.htm become more frequent of late.
He had work to do, and the truth was that he really liked his work.
Most of the time. It got harder every year, but you couldn't let old age catch
up with you. The only way to keep it in line was to refuse to give in, to
fight every inch of the way.
He puffed at the cigar for a moment, then walked to the driver's side of Karin
Thorsen's car. Her window stuck for a moment before it rolled down.
"It'll be okay," he said.
Her smile came easily, but there was a trace of fear behind her eyes. "I worry
about him about them."
" 'Man is born to trouble, as the sparks fly upward,' " he said. "And which
him was it Torrie, or Thorian, or Hosea... or Ian?"
Her mouth worked silently, then: "All, of them. I was thinking about Hosea,
this time." Her mouth took a firm set. "I'm not worried about Thorian, or
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Torrie, not now. I don't think there's ever been a Son born that would stand a
chance against my
Thorian, and if those ... things didn't disgust me so much, I'd feel sorry for
it."
Bravado looks good on you, Karin, he thought.
The distant pain in his shoulder grew sharper, and he patted at the pocket
where he kept his nitroglycerin tabs. "I'll see you later, Karin." He turned
without another word and thumbed open the bottle without taking it out of his
pocket. He'd had too much practice doing that of late. By the time he was
seated back in his car, he had a tab under his tongue, and he sat quietly for
a few moments while the bitter taste drove the pain from his chest.
That was better.
Bob Sherve puffed on his cigar, put the car into drive, and drove back into
town.
Part Two
MlNNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA
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AND
TIR NA NOG
CHAPTER NINE
Vandescard
Last time, the transition had been instantaneous: in an eyeblink, the weight
that Ian had been carrying had weighed heavily in his hands, and instead of
walking on the rippled gray stone of the Hidden Ways, he had been in an
underground tunnel, reinforced with beams and timbers.
It had been simple and painless from the start, and it had remained simple and
painless for an eternity.
Ian had been walking forever through the gray tunnel, his steps effortless and
uninteresting, his mind unfocused and incapable of focusing.
He had been, he thought, but, now, and for a long while, although physical
sensations were still distant and devoid of meaning, each step had slowly
become more difficult, more, laborious, more strenuous although, strangely,
hard as it was to take the next step, it wasn't tiring.
It felt like the very air around him was congealing into something transparent
but gelatinous, so that he simply could not keep on drifting grayly as he
walked but had to force his body into each step forward, each arm swing, each
movement. But the resistance was only one way: he paused for a moment, and
took an easy, effortless step back, unsurprised that Valin was matching his
every motion.
It would be simple to go back, in a distant way that almost angered him.
Making it easy was of no importance at all.
He pushed forward, and things began to change.
Slowly, the directionless gray light dimmed and became a splash of golden
sunlight down the tunnel ahead. Gradually, the even rippling of the hard gray
stone became less even, and if not softer, then more giving, as the floor of
the tunnel changed slowly from rippled stone into hard-packed dirt Senses
didn't quite return, for they had never abandoned him, but they gained
salience and relevance.
His left shoulder had been aching for a long time, but it had been sort of
like what he remembered having a tooth drilled while
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Hidden Ways 3.htm breathing nitrous oxide was: there was pain there, but it
was somebody else's pain, somebody he didn't particularly care about, one way
or the other.
He realized, with a shock, that he was breathing heavily, and had been for a
while, what with supporting his share of the weight of the gear.
"I...." he said, his own voice strange and foreign in his ears, "... I need to
rest."
"Then rest ye shall, Ian Silver Stone," Valin's deep basso graveled, and Ian
turned to ease the walking stick to the ground.
The cave was like the inside of a roughed-out, flattened cylinder, the incline [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]