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fragments, mostly images.
A tall ice-pointed peak ... Apollo the sun-god. . . oceans and brass chains
with links to dwarf a man, . . a sword that flames when drawn. . . a dark
cloud that is a bull and a man and a god, . .
Martel retreats from Nash's thoughts, finds he can see the energy of the man,
his ties to the field. Those are what the lines of energy have to be.
Nash retreats another step, far enough down the sloping beach that he and
Martel are almost at equal eye level.
 Take your time, Martel. You have forever, and they don't.
 What about you?
 Another century of causing tidal waves won't hurt, and that's what I'll get.
 What? And who are 'they'?
 It's a long story. But since the thunderbolts haven't hit yet, how about a
drink? Martel shrugs.
None of what the crazy giant says makes sense, but maybe it would. What seems
logical isn't. So what isn't might be.
 My place is up the hill. All I've got is some local beer and Springfire. He
turns and digs his toes into the sand as he starts upward, mentally reaching
out and letting the towel sweep itself off the sand and over his arm.
 I'll take the beer. Springfire's the last thing I need at the moment. Nash
does not comment on the acrobatics of the towel, as if they were only
expected.
Either an esper or familiar with them, reflects Martel, letting his extended
perceptions track the bigger man as he follows Martel out of the sand and onto
the grassy hillside.
The two chairs and table on the covered deck wait for them, as well as a
beaker of Springfire and a frosted mug of beer.
Martel gestures to one chair and seats himself in the other, the one closer to
the door into the cottage. The nearly dry Nash, wearing only what seems a
metallic loincloth, sinks into the chair, which bends, but does not give.
Martel revises his estimate of the man's weight and strength up another notch.
The other downs nearly a full liter in one gulp.  Not the best, but damned
fine after all that salt water.
 Could you explain? asks Martel.  None of this makes any sense. Black
glittermotes, bit players, thunderbolts, chains, and drinking salt water
 Young one, when you've been around as long as me, you take things for
granted, it all seems so simple. Some things I won't tell you, because you
won't believe them, and my telling will make it even harder. That'd hurt me.
So I won't tell. Some things you're about to learn and half believe, and those
1 will tell you. And some things you won't understand.
Martel waits, but the tall man, who physically does not appear more than a
handful of years older than Martel, drains the rest of the mug. Martel refills
it without leaving his chair. He does not like using so much esping, but has
the feeling that the stranger might disappear if he takes his eyes off him.
 I might, too  the man grins  but not quite yet. It's like this. First, the
glittermotes. They're simple. They congregate around those who can or do tap
the field. But in. . . say along while. . , I've never seen black. Only gold
and white, Not even ... anyhow, that's the glittermotes.
 Bit players, demigods, bystanders, all the same. Strong enough to endure, but
not to influence the game. Once in a while, we can point things out to the new
ones. That's you. My chains rattled free before they were supposed to, and 1
won't say how, on the condition 1 have a beer and a chat with you. No
illusions about that. I'll be back throwing waves shortly.
Martel listens, trying to accept the information, to take what is offered and
sort it out later. In the back of his mind, he senses a change in the weather,
a storm brewing over the hills to the west.
 You're educated. Talk about the chains of the sea. I've something to do with
that. If you're in the chains of the sea, you drink salt water, and that
doesn't do much for your thirst. Now ask why 1 don't try harder to get free of
my chains. 1 do, every once in a while, for an adventure or two. But 1 don't
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
stand up well against the storm-gods or their thunder-
bolts, and they don't stand up well to the Elder Gods, which says where I
stand in the grander scheme of things. You're different, or will be, once you
get the hang of it. You've got some of them stirred up. Can't see why exactly.
. . seem too peaceful to me. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]