shadow of a wolf.
It hesitated, glanced over its shoulder questioningly. And now another shape swam into view, cowled and gowned so that nothing of its face or body showed. But it was small—small as a child.
Wolf and cowled figure hung in the golden mists, watching and waiting. The sighing murmur altered. Formed itself into syllables and words. Words in no human tongue, but—I knew them.
“Ganelon! I call you, Ganelon! By the seal in your blood—hear me!”
Ganelon! Surely that was my name. I knew it so well.
Yet who called me thus?
“I have called you before, but the way was not open. Now the bridge is made. Come to me, Ganelon!”
A sigh.
The wolf glanced over a bristling shoulder, snarling. The cowled figure bent toward me. I sensed keen eyes searching me from the darkness of the hood, and an icy breath touched me.
“He has forgotten, Medea,” said a sweet, high-pitched voice, like the tone of a child.
Again the sigh. “Has he forgotten me? Ganelon, Ganelon! Have you forgotten the arms of Medea, the lips of Medea?”
‘I swung,’ cradled in the golden mists, half asleep.
“He has forgotten,” the cowled figure said.
“Then let him come to me nevertheless. Ganelon! The Need-fire burns. The gateway lies open to the Dark World. By fire and earth, and darkness, I summon you! Ganelon!”
“He has forgotten.”
“Bring him. We have the power, now.”
The golden sands thickened. Flame-eyed wolf and robed shadow swam toward me. I felt myself lifted— moving forward, not of my own volition.
The window swung wide. I saw the sword, sheathed and ready. I snatched up the weapon, but I could not resist that relentless tide that carried me forward. Wolf and whispering shadow drifted with me.
“To the Fire. Bring him to the Fire.”
“He has forgotten, Medea.”
“To the Fire, Edeyrn. To the Fire.”
Twisted tree-limbs floated past me. Far ahead I saw a flicker. It grew larger, nearer. It was the Need- fire.
Faster the tide bore me. Toward the fire itself—
Not to Caer Llyr!
From the depths of my mind the cryptic words spewed. Amber-eyed wolf whirled to glare at me; cowled shadow swept in closer on the golden stream. I felt a chill of deadly cold drive through the curling mists.
“Caer Llyr,” the cloaked Edeyrn whispered in the child’s sweet voice. “He remembers Caer Llyr—but does he remember Llyr?”
“He will remember! He has been sealed to Llyr. And, in Caer Llyr, the Place of Llyr, he will remember.”
The Need-fire was a towering pillar a few yards away. I fought against the dragging tide.
I lifted my sword—threw the sheath away. I cut at the golden mists that fettered me.
Under the ancient steel the shining fog-wraiths shuddered and were torn apart—and drew back. There was a break in the humming harmony; for an instant, utter silence.-
Then—
“Matholch!” the invisible whisperer cried. “Lord Matholch!”
The wolf crouched, fangs bared. I aimed a cut at its snarling mask. It avoided the blow easily and sprang.
It caught the blade between its teeth and wrenched the hilt from my grip.
The golden fogs surged back, folding me in their warm embrace.
“Caer Llyr,” they murmured.
The Need-fire roared up in a scarlet fountain.
“Caer Llyr!” the flames shouted.
And out of those fires rose—a woman!
Hair dark as midnight fell softly to her knees. Under level brows she flashed one glance at me, a glance that held question and a fierce determination. She was loveliness incarnate. Dark loveliness.
Lilith. Medea, witch of Colchis!
And—
“The gateway closes,” the child-voice of Edeym said.
The wolf, still mouthing my sword, crouched uneasily. But the woman of the fire said no word.
She held out her arms to me.
The golden clouds thrust me forward, into those white arms.
Wolf and cowled shadow sprang to flank us. The humming rose to a deep-pitched roar—a thunder as of crashing worlds.
“It is difficult, difficult,” Medea said. “Help me, Edeyrn. Lord Matholch.”
The fires died. Around us was not the moonlit wilderness of the Limberlost, but empty grayness, a featureless grayness that stretched to infinity. Not even stars showed against that blank.
And now there was fear in the voice of Edeyrn.
“Medea. I have not the—power. I stayed too long in the Earth-world.”
“Open the gate!” Medea cried. “Thrust it open but a little way, or we stay here between the worlds forever!”
The wolf crouched, snarling. I felt energy pouring out of his beast-body. His brain that was not the brain of a beast.
Around us the golden clouds were dissipating.
The grayness stole in.
“Ganelon,” Medea said. “Ganelon! Help me!”
A door in my mind opened. A formless darkness stole in.
I felt that deadly, evil shadow creep through me, and submerge my mind under ebon waves.
“He has the power,” Edeyrn murmured. “He was sealed to Llyr. Let him call on—Llyr.”
“No. No. I dare not. Llyr?” But Medea’s face was turned to me questioningly.
At my feet the wolf snarled and strained, as though by sheer brute strength it might wrench open a gateway between locked worlds.
Now the black sea submerged me utterly. My thought reached out and was repulsed by the dark horror of sheer infinity, stretched forth again and —
Touched—something!
Llyr… Llyr!
“The gateway opens,” Edeyrn said.
The gray emptiness was gone. Golden clouds thinned and vanished. Around me, white pillars rose to a vault far, far above. We stood on a raised dais upon which curious designs were emblazoned.
The tide of evil which had flowed through me had vanished.
But, sick with horror and self-loathing, I dropped to my knees, one arm shielding my eyes.
I had called on—Llyr!
III. Locked Worlds
ACHING IN every muscle, I woke and lay motionless, staring at the low ceiling. Memory flooded back. I turned my head, realizing that I lay on a soft couch padded with silks and pillows. Across the bare, simply furnished room was a recessed window, translucent, for it admitted light, but I could see only vague blurs through it.
Seated beside me, on a three-legged stool, was the dwarfed, robed figure I knew was Edeym.
Not even now could I see the face; the shadows within the cowl were too deep. I felt the keen glint of a
