«I must: What is the answer?» I raised a hand.
«Hold on,» I said. «These things should be done in proper order. I should have the preferred answer to yours before I tell you mine.»
It nodded.
«There is some justice in that. All right-the Keep of the Four Worlds.»
«What?»
«That is the answer. The Keep of the Four Worlds.»
I thought of Melman's words: «Why?» I asked.
«It lies at the crossroads of the worlds of the four elements, where it rises from the earth in flames, assailed by the winds and waters.»
«What about the business of overseeing all things?»
«It could refer to the view, or to its master's imperialistic designs. Or both.»
«Who is its master?»
«I don't know. That information is not essential to the answer.»
«Where'd you pick up this riddle, anyhow?»
«From a traveler, a few months back.»
«Why'd you choose this one, of all the riddles you must know, to ask me?»
«It stopped me, so it had to be good.»
«What became of the traveler?»
«He went on his way, uneaten. He'd answered my riddle.»
«He had a name?»
«He wouldn't say.»
«Describe him, please.»
«I can't. He was well muffled.»
«And he said nothing more about the Keep of the Four Worlds?»
«No.»
«Well,» I said. «I believe I'll follow his example and take a walk myself.»
I turned and faced the slope to my right.
«Waitl»
«What?» I asked.
«Your riddle,» it stated. «I've given you the answer to mine. You must now tell me what it is that is green and red and goes round and round and round.»
I glanced downward, scanned the ground. Oh, yes, there it was - my dumbbell - shaped stone. I took several steps and stood beside it.
«A frog in a Cuisinart,» I said.
«What?»
Its shoulder muscles bunched, its eyes narrowed and its many teeth became very apparent. I spoke a few words to Frakir and felt her stir as I squatted and caught hold of the stone with my right hand.
«That's it,» I said, rising. «It's one of those visual things -»
«That's a rotten riddle!» the sphinx announced.
With my left index finger I made two quick movements in the air before me.
«What are you doing?» it asked.
«Drawing lines from your ears to your eyes,» I said. Frakir became visible at about that moment, sliding from my left wrist to my hand, twining among my fingers. The sphinx's eyes darted in that direction. I raised the stone level with my right shoulder. One end of Frakir fell free and hung writhing from my extended hand. She began to brighten, then glowed like a hot silver wire.
«I believe the contest is a draw,» I stated. «What do you think?»
The sphinx licked its lips.
«Yes,» it finally said, sighing. «I suppose you are right.»
«Then I will bid you good day,» I said.
«Yes. Pity. Very well. Good day. But before you go may I have your name - for the record?»
«Why not?» I said. «I am Merlin, of Chaos.»
«Ah,» it said, «then someone would have come to avenge you.»
«It's possible.»
«Then a draw is indeed best. Go.»
I backed farther off before turning and proceeding up the slope to my right. I remained on guard until I was out of that place, but there was no pursuit.
I began jogging. I was thirsty and hungry, but I wasn't likely to turn up breakfast in this desolate, rocky place under a lemon sky. Frakir recoiled and faded. I began drawing deep breaths as I headed away from the risen sun.
Wind in my hair, dust in my eyes. I bore toward a cluster of boulders, passed among them. Seen from amid their shadows the sky grew greenish above me. Emerging, I came upon a softer plain, glitters in the distance, a few clouds rising to my left.
I maintained a steady pace, reaching a small rise, mounting it, descending its farther side where sparse grasses waved. A grove of mop-topped trees in the distance… I headed for them, startling a small orange-furred creature that sprang across my path and tore away to the left. Moments later, a dark bird flashed by, uttering a wailing note, headed in the same direction. I ran on, and the sky continued to darken.
Green the sky and thicker the grasses, green the grasses, too… Heavy gusts of wind at irregular intervals… Nearer the trees… A singing sound emerges from their branches… The clouds sweep onward…
A tightness goes out of my muscles and a familiar fluidity enters… I pass the first tree, treading upon long, fallen leaves… I pass among hairy-barked boles… The way I follow is hard-packed, becomes a trail, strange foot marks cast within it… It drops, curves, widens, narrows again… The ground rises at either hand… the trees sound bass viol notes… Patches of sky amid the leaves are the color of Morinci turquoise… Streamers of cloud snake forward like silver rivers… Small clusters of blue flowers appear on the trail walls… The walls rise higher, passing above my head… The way grows rocky… I run on…
My path widens, widens, descending steadily… Even before I see or hear it, I smell the water… Carefully now, among the stones… A bit slower here… I turn and see the stream, high, rocky banks at either hand, a meter or two of shoreline before the rise…
Slower still, beside the gurgling, sparkling flow… To follow its meandering… Bends, curves, trees high overhead, exposed roots in the wall to my right, gray and yellow talus-fall along the flaky base…
My shelf widens, the walls lower… More sand and fewer rocks beneath my feet… Lowering, lowering… Headheight, shoulder-height… Another bending of the way, slope descending… Waist high… Green-leafed trees all about me, blue sky overhead, off to the right a hard-packed trail… I mount the slope, I follow it…
Trees and shrubs, bird notes and cool breeze… I suck the air, I lengthen my stride… I cross a wooden bridge, footfalls echoing, creek flowing to the now-masked stream, moss-grown boulders beside its cool… Low stone wall to my right now… Wagon ruts ahead…
Wildflowers at either hand… A sound of distant laughter, echoing… The neigh of a horse… Creak of a cart… Turn left… Widening of the way… Shadow and sunlight, shadow and sunlight… Dapple, dapple… River to the left, wider now, sparkling… Haze of smoke above the next hill…
I slow as I near the summit. I reach it walking, dusting my garments, brushing my hair into place, limbs tingling, lungs pumping, bands of perspiration cooling me. I spit grit. Below me and to the right lies a country inn, some tables on its wide, rough-hewn porch, facing the river, a few in a garden nearby. Bye-bye, present tense. I am arrived.
I walked on down and located a pump at the far side of the building, where I washed my face, hands and arms, my left forearm still sore and slightly inflamed where Jasra had attacked me. I made my way to the porch then and took a small table, after waving to a serving woman I saw within. After a time, she brought me porridge and sausages and eggs and bread and butter and strawberry preserves and tea.
I finished it all quickly and ordered another round of the same. The second time through a feeling of returning normalcy occurred, and I slowed and enjoyed it and watched the river go by.
