neetha Napew - The Paths Of The Perambulator

“No, don’t come any closer, get away!’

How much of a wizard he was, they might never know, but madness can amplify magic as surely as it can physical strength. Insane people have been known to do extraordinary things, from bending the bars on hospital room windows to ripping off straitjackets while fighting a dozen men at a time.

Clothahump was blown backward by a blast of pure terrified madness, fueled by cowardice and powered by fear. He did have just enough time to draw in his head and limbs as he was thrown into a wall opposite. As he lay there rocking back and forth and trying to recover from the concussion, Braglob turned his paranoia on the rest of them.

“Go away, don’t hurt me, leave me alone!” he sobbed.

The wind that struck them stank of madness. Dormas dug in and somehow managed to hold her ground. Colin had a low center of gravity to begin with. He immediately dropped to the ground and dug into the floor with his powerful claws.

But Mudge was lifted and tossed backward. Only his otterish acrobatic ability enabled him to tuck and roll. He was only slightly bruised as he reached out and grabbed onto one of Dormas’s hind legs. He hung on as the insane gale tore at him, trying to blow him away, stretching him out behind the ninny like a furry flag rippling on a pole.

Jon-Tom had the duar around in front of him and was playing before the first storm-breath struck. The main force of the gale split and passed to either side of him. Talea stood at his back, shielded by his body and the aura of immobility in which he’d wrapped himself. Her red hair streamed out behind her. What wind did get through the spellsong ripped at Jon-Tom’s clothes and blew dust in his eyes. But it was not strong enough to knock him off his feet.

Braglob slowly turned to stare at Jon-Tom, having at least temporarily vanquished all other opponents. “You! Why don’t you go away too? I want you to go away!” He waved both arms at Jon-Tom. A stronger gust of wind battered him, but he was able to hold his ground. “Why don’t you go away?”

“Because I am not of your world, and so I do not respond to your madness.”

“What insanity is this?” roared the wolverine. “Another lie!” His face twisted violently. “It will have to be something special for you, then. Something unique. Something I have never tried before. Something even more devastating than your heart’s desire.”

“No, it won’t. This madness has to stop. Not only for our sake and for the rest of the world but for your own sake as well, Braglob. It doesn’t matter what you do from now on because . . .”

And he began to sing, “We’re not gonna take it. We’re not gonna take it. We’re not gonna take it anymorrre . . .!”

Dee Snider and the rest of the gang would’ve been proud.

Braglob let out a tremulous howl. At the same time the deep-throated hum and the song of the perambulator grew louder still. Jon-Tom sang on, aware that Talea was tugging at his shirt.

“Jon-Tom—look!”

There was something in the brilliantly lit chamber besides the perambulator. Gneechees. Not just one or two this time but a veritable snowstorm of them, each as bright and intense as the perambulator itself. And for the first time outside of a dream he found he could look at them directly instead of just out of the corner of his eye.

They danced in the air, coalescing until they’d formed a laser-pure spiral that wove its way around the perambulator. They appeared to be tiptoeing on its fringes, tangent to but not quite touching the substance of the apparition that it was. They had been drawn to this place by Jon-Tom’s spellsinging and remained to luxuriate in the instability generated by the perambulator.

Jon-Tom was growing hoarse trying to match his output to that of the otherworldly traveler. The sound battered at his body as much as at his ears. The music of the perambulator raged through his soul. He couldn’t go on much longer.

So he threw the dice, took the chance, and tried to draw to an inside magical straight by changing his song in mid-refrain, switching abruptly (as abruptly as the perambulator, in fact) from a defiant ballad to the sweetest strong song he knew.

Braglob was ill-prepared for the sudden shift in tactics. The wolverine staggered away from his wailing wall, fought to draw himself upright. You could see the change come over him. His expression softened. His body relaxed as the tenseness drained out of his muscles. Most revealing of all, the wild, undisciplined stare began to fade from his eyes. Gone was the terrified, frozen glare; gone the hopeless, defensive posture.

He blinked once, twice, did Braglob the Mad, and smiled at Jon-Tom.

Behind him there came an explosion of light and sound. Even though he was looking away from it, the sudden pulse of energy temporarily blinded him. Gneechees fled the chamber like a million retreating miniature suns. The humming and whistling of the panpipes retreated before a single reverberating note like the lowest register of some gigantic organ.

Jon-Tom made himself turn, heedless of the consequences. The single devastating flash of light had faded, and he could see that the perambulator had been transformed a last time, into a crystalline geometric conglomerate so utterly perfect, so heart-stoppingly beautiful that he thought he would burst into tears.

He turned away just in time. A second energy pulse even more powerful than the first lit the walls. Jon-Tom felt himself lifted off his feet by the sheer pressure of light. He saw himself turning, tumbling, doing a slow somersault in the air, and bouncing gently off the far wall.

The organ pedal faded with the light, and so did his consciousness.

XIV

Calm. It was so calm, he thought as he regained his senses. It was quiet in the chamber, but in his mind he still heard that climactic final note, felt the photons lifting him off the ground and shoving him against the stones. Yet as he picked himself slowly off the floor and checked his bones, he discovered that there was no reminder of that hard contact, nothing broken, not so much as a bruise to indicate where he’d struck the wall. Even his clothing was undamaged.

A small shape lay crumpled nearly, lithe and familiar. It let out a sob. He stumbled over to kneel beside it. “Talea.”

She was lying on her belly. He rolled her over, and she grabbed him tightly with both hands. He winced, having forgotten how strong she was. Then she recognized him and loosened her grip.

“Jon-Tom?”

“You’re all right?”

She did not reply immediately, as though the question required some careful consideration. “I guess so. I shouldn’t be. I think I bounced headfirst off the ceiling, like a ball in a game of whist.” She sat up without his aid. “But I feel okay. Just a little dazed. What happened?”

“The perambulator went away. It didn’t go quietly, but I think it went joyfuDy. By breaking Braglob’s madness we broke his control over it.” He was looking past her, toward the center of the now-empty chamber. “I think the perambulator, in its way, was saying good-bye to us as it departed. Or maybe it was nothing more than abstract noise. I guess we’ll never know.”

Their companions were slowly picking themselves off the floor. Clothahump was examining the air beneath the dome. Protected and cushioned by his shell, he’d recovered first. Mudge was brushing himself off while Dormas was trying to untangle her legs from Colin, who’d been blown into her by the force of the perambulator’s departure.

And there was one more who was recovering rapidly from the shock. Jon-Tom left Talea to cautiously confront their nemesis.

Braglob was flexing his muscles, testing first his legs and then his mighty arms. He appeared clear-eyed and alert.