He contemplated it. The illusion had not changed it; it was completely natural. The challenge had evidently been to locate the real one amidst the false ones, and he would have done that in time without the precog path; the precognition had merely facilitated the process. But for the moment he had another concern. “You're not in perfect health, friend."
He put both hands on the trunk and extended his Glamor awareness. The tree had been growing in the illusion field all its life, and had never been near another tree of any kind. No insects visited it to aid in the pollination of its flowers, so it could not propagate. That made it lonely and facing extinction of its line. “You're not ill; you're depressed,” he said. “With reason."
“What is the problem?” Ini asked.
“This tree is one of mine; I need to help it. But what it needs is not my constituency."
“Fetch Blue,” Weft suggested.
The Glamor of Insects. They had five legs on Charm, and were different here, but insects were insects. “Agreement,” he said.
Red sent a mental signal, and in a moment the Blue Glamor was in relayed mental touch.
“This tree needs insects,” Havoc explained. “But they can't find it hidden deep in the illusion fields. Can you help?"
Affirmation. I will give the local bees the coordinates of the tree and an imperative to visit it. A mature flowering tree will be well worth their while.
“Can they find it through the illusion?"
The illusion does not affect coordinates, and bees lack imagination for illusion. They can find it.
“Send some now,” Havoc said.
She did not argue; one Glamor knew the urgency of another when his clientele was in need. Soon a small swarm of the odd bees of this planet buzzed in. They circled the tree, orienting on the flowers, and went to them.
Havoc patted the gnarled trunk. “You are in business, friend."
“That's sweet,” Weft said tearfully. “Happy endings always make me cry."
“Me too,” Ini agreed.
“We are done here,” Havoc said, touched by their reaction. “Appreciation, Blue."
Welcome, Havoc.
Havoc walked around the tree, and when he reached his starting point, the scene had shifted.
He stopped and stared, and so did Ini and Red behind him. They were floating in deep space, and something weird was in view. It was some sort of machine, like those of the White Chroma, but far larger and stranger. It was made entirely of metal, with projecting turrets from which scintillating beams issued. Smaller machines were circling it like wolves around a bear when hunting was lean. But machines were not alive and did not compete for food. “Confusion."
“It's a spaceship,” Ini said. “Old Earth had them. That's how our ancestors were brought to Charm a thousand years ago."
“Amazement!” Havoc, as a villager, had not known much about such things.
“It seems to be a space battle,” Ini said. “I read of those. The spaceships fired beams of light at each other that had the power to burn holes in their hulls. So it was like men shooting arrows at each other."
“How does the illusion know about this?” Havoc asked.
“Such ships must have visited Counter Charm too, and been noted. They could have delivered some of the creatures here, or perhaps merely scouted it before deciding on Charm."
Still, this is odd, Red thought. I understood it was a colony ship that delivered our species. These are combat vessels.
“Agreement,” Ini said. “The history makes no reference to combat in space."
“Do the ifrits know?” Havoc asked.
I will relay the question.
Soon the answer returned. There is a memory of something like this in the distant past. The ifrits knew more of the matter in prior centuries, but it was shut off at the time the illusion fields were made.
That explained much. The ifrits had feared that the knowledge would help free the object the illusion imprisoned. So they suppressed the information, but left evidence of it in the illusion itself.
But this was distracting them from the business at hand. “We must find out how to get beyond this setting,” Havoc said. “This is beyond my understanding."
Naturally. You're a barbarian.
“Agreement. Suggestions?"
“Ini knows,” Weft said.
“I know that we are going in the right general direction,” Ini said. “I am able to verify with the altar between settings, as we cross. But I know nothing about space battles. They are not part of my experience."
“Daddy, if you want to kiss Ini, I won't be jealous. She's nice."
“I have done more than that with Ini, in the past, and may again. Why do you think Ini knows the answer, when she doesn't think so?"
“Because she's so smart. She can figure it out. Also, her precog path is strongest."
We keep forgetting to use the precog, Red thought. Weft has trumped us again, comparing our near future paths for comparative certainty.
“Ele-mentary,” Weft said, pleased.
Havoc turned to the region where the Air Chroma woman was, though overridden by the space illusion. “Discussion."
“I can't do precognition,” Ini said. “So I must reason things out. I note that this is a repeating cycle, with a number of small ships attacking the big one, being opposed by a few smaller ships that match the color of the big one. The big one also fires beams of light from its surface turrets, that burn any small ships they touch, and the small ships fire light beams at each other. The mother ship's accuracy improves as the enemy ships fly closer, and soon most are gone and the rest are fleeing. Then the little ships return to it. Then the cycle repeats. It is a recorded battle that the large ship and its minions win."
“Now I will kiss you,” Havoc said. “I pride myself on my observation, but I picked up on none of this.” He nulled the vision enough to locate her specifically, embraced her, and kissed her. She responded hungrily; she did carry an ikon, and she did like him, though she knew he would never be hers.
“See—I'm not jealous,” Weft said determinedly.
Well, I am, the Red Glamor thought. He respects Ini's mind more than her body, and her body has improved.
Quite true. Ini was a fine, smart woman, and Havoc did not regret any part of his association with her. “Analysis."
“The moment we act, the setting will react,” Ini said. “If it takes us for an attacking ship, the mother ship will shoot us down, and we'll be out of the illusion. We don't want that. So we must try to emulate one of its own little ships, so that it will allow us to approach. Surely the way through this setting is inside that big ship."
“Agreement!” Havoc said. “I am minded to do more than kiss you, Invisible woman."
“Willing and eager."
“Not that far,” Weft snapped.
They laughed. Neither Havoc nor Ini had been joking, and all knew it, but this was not the time. “Let me see what I can do.” He concentrated, and formed the semblance of a friendly little ship around them. The illusion allowed this; it was part of playing by its rules.
Havoc did not know how such a ship was guided, but it didn't matter; he simply willed it to move into the scene toward the mother ship.
Immediately an enemy craft changed course and came toward them. “Avoid!” Ini cried. “Don't let it shoot us down."
Havoc willed their ship to dodge to the right. He was just in time; a beam of light coruscated just to their left. This was like an arrow; the next one was likely to score. So he turned around, oriented on the enemy, and loosed his own arrow. His aim was good, and it scored.
The enemy ship exploded with a brilliant fireball. But that attracted the notice of several other enemy craft. They converged.
“Trouble,” Havoc muttered. He steered the ship into the remnant of the fireball, simultaneously turning it around so that it was ready to go back the way it had come. Then, concealed by the smoke and debris, he accelerated. They emerged from the smokeball and s
hot by two approaching enemy ships before they realized what was happening.
The enemy ships quickly reoriented, but now Havoc had a fair lead. He went toward the big mother ship. The pursuit closed, but now they were getting closer to the mother ship, and beams of light shot out and passed Havoc's ship, aiming for the enemy craft. The enemy ships veered away; this was too dangerous for them.
“Admiration. It's as though you have been a space fighter pilot all your life,” Ini said.
“I have been a barbarian warrior all my life. Same principle."
They slowed as they approached the mother ship. “Look for an entry port,” Ini said. “The small ships are taken inside the mother."
Havoc found one, and guided the craft into it. Some invisible hand caught hold and put the small ship into a rack. Then a port opened, and they had entry into the main ship.
But instead of a metallic interior, they were on the vertical slope of an infinitely tall mountain. Havoc stood on a tiny ledge perhaps halfway up. When he dislodged a bit of sand, it fell interminably until disappearing long before it struck the bottom. Eventually there came the faint sound of a splash: there was water down there in the darkness.
“Things are not what they appear,” he said tightly. He nulled the vision, and saw that he was standing on a plain. But to navigate the illusion he had to focus on it, and that brought the horror of falling. He was terrified.
This one is different, Red thought. The illusion of fear.
Illusion? Of course! Havoc had not been much for hesitation or doubt as an ignorant villager, and less so now; this had to be artificial. But in what way was the illusion of fear different from the reality? He knew it was not genuine, but still felt it.
“Daddy, I don't like this,” Weft said.
What could he say to reassure her? “Neither do I, honey. But we have to get through it."
“That way,” she said, pointing over his shoulder.
There was a series of indentations in the cliff. Some were toe sized, some finger sized. They led to another ledge. Obviously that was the route.
Could he do it? He had made similar climbs before, but not at this apparent height, and not burdened with the off-balancing weight of a child. The niches looked slippery and treacherous; if anything gave way, he would plunge into the sea below. And what about Ini and Red?
Show the way. We'll follow.
He saw no other way. “Remember, Weft, what we see is not real. If we fall, we won't really fall, though it may feel exactly like it."
“I'll shut my eyes tight."
“And don't wiggle."
He nerved himself, unaccustomed to this emotion. He had always been one for action, and seldom felt fear, even before he was a Glamor or king. But he had always done what had to be done, and would do it this time.
But the fear was almost paralyzing. The height and depth of the cliff was awesome, and while he knew his fingers and toes were strong, he was in serious doubt about the solidity of the stone around the indents. Was it possible to climb to the next ledge?
What choice was there? He faced the wall and slid his left hand out across the surface, seeking a hold. His fingers slid around the place, then found purchase for two. But suppose there were creatures in those holes, stinging insects, worms with blood-sucking mouths? He would be helpless.
He poked his fingers in regardless, hung on, then slid his left foot out. It was bare, as it had to be; there was no aperture big enough for more than two toes. He found such a place, and wedged in his big toe and the next one.
Could his left hand and foot take his weight? They had to. He slid his right hand along the wall—and realized that there was no purchase for it. His left hand already possessed the holes. What was he to do?
No thought or voice came from the others; they knew he had to work it out on his own, without dangerous distraction. And he did: he put more weight on his left toes, stretched his right arm out to the right side as a counterbalance, and slowly pulled his left fingers out. He slid them farther across the wall, seeking holes beyond.
He found them, and worked his fingers in. Then he moved his right hand across before his face until it found the first finger-holds. They weren't angled quite right, but he wedged in his middle and fourth fingers before his precarious balance was lost. Now both hands were anchored.
It was time for the feet. He had to vacate his toeholds to make way for his right foot. That meant stretching out precariously, suspended almost entirely by his four fingers. Was it possible? He was tempted to go back to the ledge, where at least it was safe. He fought that urge down; the ledge was nowhere.
His left foot found a farther indent, and his toes gripped it as well as they were able, taking weight off his fingers. He brought his right foot across to the first spot. Now he was entirely on the wall, dependent on his straining digits.
“I'd rather float,” Weft said.
“Agreement!” he gasped. He had become dependent on Glamor powers, and hated being without them.
The scene darkened, and he heard something. After a moment he recognized it with horror: wind. A storm was brewing, and he was stuck on the wall.
He gritted his teeth and quested farther. He had to do it quickly or not at all, because he would be lost if that storm caught him. That meant risk taking. He hated it, but had no choice.
He moved across, finger by finger and toe by toe, as the storm approached. Just before it struck, he achieved the other ledge, and sat on it, panting with nervous relief. The storm blasted at him, but couldn't dislodge him from the ledge; it was too solid. Soon the wind and rain passed, giving up its futile effort.
“Is this what it's like for normals?” Weft asked.
“For nonChroma normals, yes. But most of them have the sense to stay off ledges."
Havoc looked for the crevices beyond the ledge, so he could continue his laborious journey. And found a new horror. There were none. The wall was featureless. The only route was between the two ledges, not beyond them.
“What now?” he asked, stymied.
I think this is a test of courage, Red thought. What do you fear most at the moment?
“Falling."
Then you must fall.
He couldn't argue with the logic. There had to be a way through this setting, and the only way left was down, into the water below. If he had the courage to jump.
He considered, reminding himself that this wasn't real. He wasn't really risking his life and that of his daughter if he jumped. But if he failed to jump, he was risking the success of their mission.
Again he nerved himself, fighting off fear that threatened to paralyze him. “Hang on, Weft,” he said. “Whatever happens. And hold your nose."
“This stinks,” she agreed.
Then he stood at the edge of the ledge, and jumped. He did not dive, because that would not have protected the child; he jumped clear of the cliff and dropped feet first. He felt the air rushing by during the long fall, then the solid blow of the water as they struck.
And they were in a new setting. This one was strange; he seemed to be on another cliff, but his sense of balance indicated it wasn't vertical. It was angled at about forty five degrees. But when he shifted position and sand dislodged, it fell at right angles to that wall. It was as if he stood in a wind he couldn't feel, that was blowing things counter to gravity.
But he was getting the hang of these illusions, with the help of Weft, Ini, Red, and their limited precog ability. It was mainly a matter of fathoming their natures and beating them at their games. So they forged through one setting after another, finding their keys and leaving them behind, marking their route. There was a buxom female mummy whose windings concealed the horror of millennia old flesh and bone. There were distorted human figures and animals. There were weird watercraft floating down turbulent waters. There were rivers that turned into roads, and on into rainbows. A woman whose copious skirt became a separate scene in itself, that they entered for the next setting. Disconnected eyeballs. A
coach that propelled itself on giant insect legs. Animated human skeletons. The images were losing their power to surprise or defeat.
And suddenly they were out of it, and into a large chamber without illusion. The precog paths converged, leading toward its center. The object they sought.
* * * *
Gale was nursing Voila at the edge of the illusion fields when the news was relayed through: Havoc had made it to the center. She was glad, but didn't celebrate; she knew that whatever had required such extensive burial would not be easy to handle, even millennia later. They had merely gotten past the first hurdle.
She returned to the main base camp, where Symbol was entertaining Warp and Flame with an illusion story. The remaining two children had been persuaded to behave only by the promise that once the way was won through the illusion fields, they would be taken there. “Havoc made it,” she said. “Weft helped. They haven't seen the object yet; they are waiting for the rest of us to join them. Which we shall do tomorrow."
Symbol had just one question: “Is it safe?"
“Surely not. But it's a risk we have to take."
She went on to a conference with Ivo and Iva Ifrit, whose invaluable assistance had enabled this to happen. The ifrits could not penetrate the illusion fields, because they spread across Chroma and nonChroma zones and distorted ifrit senses as much as human senses. But the Glamors were reporting everything to them.
“Now you have won through to the center, a thing we are unable to do,” Iva said. She was in solid form for this dialogue, because Gale was reluctant to assume cloud form during the tension of their infiltration of the illusion fields. “How will you handle the thing the illusion sphere restrains?"
“First we must find out exactly what it is."
“It is a machine, a thing without life, but motivated and dangerous."
“We have no experience with such a thing."
“Therefore you must be prepared, for it is dangerous."
“We shall certainly investigate it."
“Doubt."
“Question?"