single line that wove across the sward and then through the curtain of distortion. The last initiate passed into the dimness, pulling at the donkey with their provisions. High on the backpack Alodar saw the corners of the recently bartered books protruding through the topmost flap.
His eyes widened with excitement. Books of magic moving away from the protective devices of the Guild!
He looked out to the shimmering view. It was well that he had taken every excuse to visit the town. He had been guided through the curtain enough times that he should be able to make the transit alone.
Alodar waited a few minutes more until everyone was out of sight and then quickly sprinted down the stairs. He raced outside the hall, across the swatch of grass, and into the haze. Rocks, shrubs, and the pathway ahead distorted in dizzying shapes that flickered from one glance to the next. Trunks waved back and forth, leaves expanded to giant size and contracted to pinheads, while rocks oscillated like soft gelatins. In a dozen steps, he was completely surrounded by the distortions, unable to tell by sight from whence he had come or the direction of the true pathway ahead. He glanced behind to see the towers of the hall of administration seemingly sway in the breeze, soaring to the sky and then drooping like a waxen model left in the hot sun.
Closing his eyes and concentrating, Alodar paced off a dozen more steps and then turned abruptly to his right. After several minutes of dead reckoning, aided only by minimal clues from the texture underfoot, his boot sounded against a large flat stone. The edge of the chasm, if the talk among the neophytes was accurate, was a deep cut wrapping around the Guild within the interior of the curtain. With his eyes still closed, he gingerly pushed one foot forward and felt the narrow beam which must span the gap. Arms outstretched for balance, he stepped off the six steps and felt with relief the firm contact with the stone on the other side.
He opened his eyes and saw the diffuse light grow dimmer still, as if the sun had suddenly sunk towards the horizon. The scrubby chaparral shriveled away to isolated clumps of gnarled and bare branches, and a single needle-like spire wavered above a rolling landscape, Alodar blinked, trying to remember if he had seen such a scene when he was guided before, but the image shimmered away.
He stepped forward six steps and then turned to his left. After a score more paces, he spun back to the right and continued down the slope. Twigs and small branches pulled at his robe, but when he peeked in the direction of the tugs, the grotesque shapes only added to the confusion. He stumbled over the small stones which littered the way and finally banged his toes against the sharp point of a flat rock directly in his path.
He mentally ran through the sequence from the beginning to make sure of the correct path and then started down the branch to the left. After several more minutes of concentration he broke through to the still air of the outside world.
Alodar sighed with relief at his accomplishment but had no time to stop and savor it. He ran to the edge of the trail and looked over the side. The pathway switched back several times below him. On the second bend he saw the guildsmen pulling their beasts of burden. Downhill, the trail cut back in a wide arc that nearly circumscribed the hill before reversing direction.
Without waiting further, Alodar lifted a fist-sized rock and hurled it down at the donkey lumbering along. The first shot missed the target and the trail completely. The second was a lucky hit directly on the animal's haunch, The donkey reared upright, wrenching the rein from his handler. Another hit on the lower neck was enough to terrify the beast into bolting down the trail with the magician and his acolytes racing behind.
Alodar quickly turned and began to scramble through the bush to the other side of the hill. His feet slipped on small rubble. Several times he had to grasp at a nearby shrub to keep his balance. Pulling and tugging his way, he pursued a rough arc through the chaparral while the magicians zigzagged on the looping path below. Several minutes passed in a frenzy of exertion, and then Alodar stopped and looked down the slope. If he hurried now, he could meet the beast on the long switchback and have a chance at the books before the pursuers could come around.
He took a deep breath and charged down the hillside, hitting the rough ground on a dead run. He leaped over the small barriers that lay in his way and zigged and zagged down the incline. His legs seemed to acquire a will of their own, hurling one foot in front of the other and dragging his upper body behind. He caromed forward with only enough control to twist and dodge the larger shrubs and rocks that swept by in a blur. Struggling for balance, he flailed his arms wildly in the air, more than once almost carried away by the avalanche of small stones he started with his pounding tread.
In a final burst of speed, he jarred onto the pathway, feet skittering across the ground towards the edge of the cliff. As he ran forward, the donkey rounded the curve and galloped directly ahead down the trail. Alodar slowed and stepped to one side, reaching out to grasp the pack lashings as the beast ran by.
Stabbing pain shot through his arms as he was stretched by the contact, but he gripped the harness firmly and was swept from his feet and dragged along. Trusting his grip to his left hand, he released his right and fumbled for the books peeking out of the top of the pack. With a savage motion, he wrenched one free and tumbled to the ground, rolling off the trail and cascading down the edge of the cliff.
Brush and rock slowed his descent, whacking at his limbs and ribs as he spun. In a dizzying moment, he lay still at the bottom of a little ravine, groggy and with blood trickling from a battered nose, but still clutching the magic book of the Guild. Up on the trail he heard the excited cries of the initiates as they ran past, calling for the animal to stop.
Alodar lay still, not so much to ensure that the magicians were gone as to let his body rest from the beating it had taken.
A long time later as dusk began to fall, he slowly sat up, wincing from the soreness in his back and legs. With a hand trembling from the effort, he cautiously broke the seal on the small clasp which bound the book shut. He breathed deeply and cracked the volume open to the middle.
The pages fell flat with a sudden puff of black smoke. As Alodar fanned the haze aside, he saw that the parchment contained not writings on magic but blankness from top to bottom. He quickly cut to another page and the opening was accompanied by the same explosion and absence of content. He spent the next hour trying to part the leaves in various ways, slowly, from the top, with eyes closed, behind his back, but always with the same result. When he was done the book was empty, ready and fresh for the first word to be written in it
Alodar tossed the useless volume aside in disgust and began to climb slowly back up the cliffside. 'Safeguarded still,' he muttered. 'I have yet to find the way.'
'This way, Alodar,' Hypeton called as he wove his way through the clutter of low benches and tables in the dark and musty room. Alodar followed, barely able to keep sight of the swirling brown of the robe in front as he avoided the outstretched arms and legs in his way.
He saw their target at last, a small round table in the far corner, already occupied by two figures huddled over the light of a single feeble candle.
'Ah, my night vision deceives me not,' Hypeton said with satisfaction as he sat down. 'The best bench in the house, I wager.'
Alodar sat down in the one spot remaining and squinted into the gloom at the two others, white-robed but hooded as he.
'But we are much too formal,' Hypeton continued, throwing back his cowl and reaching up to do the same to the figure at his left. The hood fell in a cascade of golden curls shining brightly in the light of the candle. 'And yes, I was right, it is you, Cynthia, and your companion must be Camphonel, is it not?'
'Enough of your light manner, Hypeton,' the bare headed girl responded in a throaty voice. 'It is barely tolerable back at the Guild. I care not to have it pursue me when we take leave to visit the village.'
'Ah, Cynthia, as gruff as always,' Hypeton said. 'How is it that your heart does not mirror the perfection of your skin? It would be most wondrous if it were so.'
'Which new one do you bring with you tonight, Hypeton?' Cynthia asked, ignoring the question. 'Did the last one finally tire of the same parade of taverns and houses, week after week?'
'I am Alodar, the neophyte,' Alodar said. 'Are you also of the Cycloid Guild?'
'Indeed I am,' Cynthia answered. 'Perhaps you have already seen me in the course of your sojourn there.'
Alodar squinted at the face across the table with eyes not yet accustomed to the darkness. The chin was square with a harsh line that contrasted sharply with the softness of the cascading curls. The nose and lips were a trifle too large for the thin, oblong face but the eyes were alive, returning with confidence Alodar's measured look. Men who did not know her would judge her plain, he thought, but those who did would feel a strong allure. Recognition sprang to him as he traced down the outline of her figure now hidden by the robe.
