Piers Anthony - Juxtaposition

“Be alert for other hostile effects,” Stile told Sheen. “The enemy can’t hit us with new magic, but, as we have seen, the prepared traps can be awkward enough.” Sheen held her finger up as if testing the wind. “No magic here,” she reported.

They stood at the winch. It was a heavy-duty model, powered by a chip of Protonite, and its massive cables were adequate to the need. They placed the harness about the ball; it fitted with little bearings so that the ball could roll within its confinement. With the pulleys and leverage available, the ball should move up the spiral. It did move up. There were no hitches. Yet Stile worried. He knew the enemy would strike; he didn’t know when and how. Why hadn’t they destroyed the winch, since obviously they had had access to this tunnel?

“Trool?” he asked.

There was no response from the troll. Probably he was out surveying the situation, and would report the moment he spied anything significant.

The winch cranked the ball of Phazite up the spiraling tunnel, providing it the elevation it would need to roll all the way across the juxtaposition zone to Proton. Once that boulder started rolling, it should be prohibitively difficult to stop. Victory seemed very near at hand—and still Stile worried. He was absolutely sure something ugly was incipient.

At last they reached the top. The winch delivered the ball to a platform housed in earth, surely resembling a mound of the Little Folk from outside. AH they had to do now was open the gate and nudge it out. Trool appeared. “Found thee at last!” he exclaimed. *Take not this route, Adept!”

Stile looked at him sourly. “We have already taken this route. Where hast thou been?”

“Looking all over for thee! There are a hundred traces of thy presence, all mistaken—until this one.”

“Diversion magic,” Stile said. “False dues to my whereabouts, laid down in advance, so that I become the needle in the haystack. But why would they try to mislead thee?”

“Because I have spied on them. Barely did I reach thee in time to give warning; the goblins have bypassed the giants, indulged in forced marches, and are lurking in ambush for thee here. Thou canst not pass this way, Adept.”

“Nonsense,” Sheen said. “I detect no goblins within seventy kilometers.”

“Thou shouldst get beyond their screening spells,” Trool said. “From behind, they are naught. There are maybe five hundred goblins there, armed with Proton weapons and busy making entrenchments. That much did I see; I looked no more, so that I could return in haste to warn thee. But then did I face the enchantment that concealed thee from me. All of it is passive magic, set in place before we came here, yet a nuisance.”

“I knew things were too easy,” Stile muttered. ‘They left us alone so we would continue on into their trap. We have perhaps four hours remaining to get the Phazite across the north border of the juxtaposition zone. We can not backtrack now. We shall have to proceed.”

“I can neutralize the screen magic,” Sheen said. “But that will not remove the goblins. The enemy Adepts will prevent me from performing any mass spell on them.”

“So there are, after all, limits to the book,” Stile said with a wry smile.

“Yes. It gives me power to stand off all the Adepts—but not to overwhelm them. We shall have to handle the goblins physically.”

“The animalheads are arriving on the scene,” Trool said. “But they, too, are confused by the shield-spells. If thou dost eliminate the shields, all will encounter each other and there will be mayhem galore.”

“I don’t want mayhem,” Stile said. “But if it has to be, I want to ease the burden on the animalheads. Sheen, conjure me a holophone.”

In a moment it was there. Stile called his own dome, and Mellon answered. His leg had been repaired. “I am glad to see you back in form, sir,” he said. Stile was sure the call was tapped and might soon be blocked off. “I’m in a battle situation and need reinforcements,” he said quickly. “I can’t arrange to conjure large groups, so they’ll have to march. The goblins are enemies and will slaughter whomever they can; the other creatures, however strange they may appear, are friends. Can you arrange anything?”

“Allow thirty minutes, sir.” The image faded. So, just like that, it was done. Mellon would get the coordinates of Stile’s location from the holo and would send out what he could. Stile’s Citizen resources were now considerable; he could afford a private army, if anyone could.

He returned to his immediate situation. “If the goblins have Proton weapons, we’ll need Proton defenses. They are probably making ready to storm this hill. We should have light, bulletproof armor, laser screens—“

“Personal force fields,” Sheen suggested. “They will handle a combination of attacks, and I can conjure in such small units without alerting the enemy Adepts.”

“And make invisibility-spells for the rest of us,” Brown added. “They’ll know we’re near the Phazite ball, but still—“

“Yes,” Stile agreed. “Probably they won’t want to fire their shots too close to the Phazite; they won’t have effect, and if they did, what would it be? There’s power to destroy the planet in this dense little sphere; no one would gain if that energy were suddenly released.”

“Most likely they will attempt to wipe us out, and send the ball rolling back down the spiral tube,” Sheen said. “Then they will blast the entrance closed and wait for the juxtaposition to terminate. Clef surely can’t hold it much longer.”

“We’re committed to our present course,” Stile said, shaking his head ruefully. “They gave us full opportunity to go beyond the point of retreat. I’d like to meet the goblin commander; he’s one smart tactician.”

“Maybe an Adept is running things,” Brown said.

“This smacks more of field tactics to me.” Stile brought out his map. “As I make it, the ball has a fairly straight path north from here. All we need to do is clear out a few obstacles in the channel and start it rolling. We don’t want to mire it in the lake, unless that’s beyond the juxtaposition zone. Trool, where is the north side of the curtain now?”

“It is stabilized north of the lake and north of the Oracle’s palace, in this section,” the troll replied. “There is some curve in it yet; elsewhere it impinges the White Mountain range, but here it is fairly southerly.”

“And where is it in this section?” Stile asked, indicating the place where the Oracle-computer was buried, some what removed from the Oracle’s palace.

“It slants northwest, passing just south of that region. But that is not a good place to roll the ball anyway; there is a long incline up, with the curtain almost at the ridge there. Much easier to roll it through the valley to the east.”

So the curtain was just south of the Oracle-computer. That was why there had been no news of the computer’s crossing; Clef’s Flute had not been able to broaden the juxtaposition zone enough. That meant the curtain would have to be stretched northward a little—and how would Stile find the creature-power to accomplish that, in the midst of battle?

“Nevertheless, I believe we’ll roll it across at this site,” Stile said, after reflecting a moment. “I hope the giants arrive in time to help; they’ll be able to roll it barehanded.”

“I’m not sure,” Sheen said. “The ball of Phazite is the same diameter as a giant’s finger—but its substance is fifty times as dense as living flesh. Trying to push on it could be clumsy and painful.”

“They can use silver thimbles, or roll it with a pool cue,” Stile said, smiling briefly.

“And the route,” she said. “Why roll the ball across that particular place?”