facing away from me.
Suddenly, I could see through the surfaces of objects.
I saw, in the distance, 'through' the trees, a rout of wild maenads were pelting down the slope, ululating. 'Ite Bacchai! Ite Bacchai!'
And, downslope from us, not far from the highway, I saw the 'flat'-seeming shapes of lithe and calm-faced women in black skintight armor, bent low over the manes of their artificial super-steeds, moving in a well-ordered column, silent and rapid. There were scouts ahead of the main column, and flanking riders left and right.
If only I could get my tendrils on one of their rifles, I could shoot maenads and nymphs alike with bullets designed to cripple their particular powers. The distance was far, but was it too far? I pushed first one, then two energy-tendrils into four-space. And...
The nymph standing over Colin smote him a second time with her wand, saying, 'Powers used for evil deeds, this recompense we nymphs demand of you-serve now Ethemea, not Phobetor, and all the powers of Phaethusa undo.'
Stepping lightly over to me as she spoke, this nymph struck me in the face with the butt of her wand. It was shockingly painful. I tasted blood where my lip had been cut on my teeth.
And I was three-dimensional again. Crushing pain pressed in where once my higher limbs had been. I could no longer even imagine the other directions.
The nymph Ethemea looked down at me, not smiling, not frowning; she did not gloat, but neither did any trace of sympathy mar the perfect coolness of her gaze.
I was vermin to her. She looked like a farmwife looking at a rat in a trap, or some vixen that had been killing her chickens.
I lay there helpless, numb, motionless, waiting for death. I could still speak, but what would I have said?
The voice of Lamia now issued from the crystal marble hovering overhead: 'Slay the dream-prince instantly! Why do you delay? Pierce his flesh with pitiless steel knives!'
The nymph Ethemea turned away from me and said in a voice as soft as falling snow, 'We have witnessed in this place what curses, what weaknesses, cling thick and black to any who offend the laws of gods and men.'
One of the nymphs-the one who had robbed Colin of his power, and called herself Cyane- spoke next, saying, 'The crime of murder would render us vulnerable to the curses of that chaoticist whom you have not yet caught, nor yet discovered: Eidotheia, whom we have cause to fear.'
Lamia said, 'Fear more to disobey! Take up your athames, and slay!'
A third nymph, Lara, said softly, 'Lord Trismegistus, swift guide of souls to Hell, and father of lies, promised me freedom from the Path of Sighs, and swore my soul would not in that Dark House dwell, if only I would forget all honor, and worship his body with feigned love and true concupiscence. Him alone, my husband is, to him alone, fealty and obedience I owe. What cause have we to obey cruel Lamia, who rejoices in blood and woe?'
Lamia's voice said, 'Tools, was I not dead as well, and did not Trismegistus steal my soul from destined torments waiting me in Hell, to be his concubine and unwilling mate? All this is being done at his bidding. Why do you hesitate?'
The nymph Sagaritis, the one who had paralyzed Colin, said, 'He never bade us kill and slay, never bade us murders do; bloody deeds were not his way-who wills this deed; our Lord... or you?'
Lamia said, 'I waste no further breath: Maenads are here, and far more tractable to my will. Let the glorious and gory deeds be done by them who are not so nice and so fastidious as you!'
The nymphs, smiling cryptically, inclined their heads and stepped smoothly to the left and right, making way.
The storm of noise and fury approached down the slope. With my unaided eyes, I saw, between the toppling tree boles, women in torn dresses, or panther skins, or nude, running in huge long- legged strides through the trees, ivy-wreathed spears and truncheons of iron in their slim hands.
Many of them struck the ground with their spearheads as they ran, and wine bubbled up from rents in the earth those massive blows made. Some of the women who ran on all fours tore the ground with their fingernails, pulling up rocks and boulders; gushes of white milk fountained up from the soil in those places. A rolling wash of muddy wine and dirty milk was rippling and tumbling down the slope with the women, staining their bare calves and thighs.
And I wondered where Mavors was, with all his troops: troops destined to rescue us when death loomed. And yet I knew: I had seen the explosion through time-space that had snarled the dream-paths his Atlanteans were using, and sent the ships and giants tumbling into confusion.
Mavors was not coming.
I whispered. 'Echidna. Come. Can you hear me? Please come.'
Even though my voice had barely breathed that name, the nymph who had struck me, Ethemea, who was standing twelve or so feet away, turned and said in a voice like music: 'The creatures of dream cannot hear, unhoused souls, save for what we, souls in vessels, care to have them hear.'
