universe from yours?'
'We have a bargain.' Jankol ignored the question. 'Your device is to aid along with all the rest.'
Astron started to say more when the gong sounded a second time. Again he saw the treetops start to sway back and forth. The water in the pond spewed from its banks in a foamy spray. A wave of sand much higher than before pulsed away from its creation.
'Brace yourself!' Astron yelled as he was suddenly thrown from his feet. With a wrenching groan, the long beams of the engine snapped their leather bindings and he tumbled to the ground. Gears ripped from their lashings; tins of flour dropped to the sands, exploding their contents in sprays of deep orange. As if he had been struck by lightning from the realm of men, Astron heard a painful clap of thunder that filled the air and reverberated into a distant rumble that left him dazed. The sky seemed to shimmer for a moment with thin lines of iridescence arching from horizon to horizon.
Astron breathed the sweet taste of air deeply and shook his head from side to side. As the sky began to return to its former steady brightness, he saw Jankol and his lieutenants, completely unfettered, trying to lash the engine back to the way it had been.
'No, no more use of devices of the chronoids.' Astron's tongue felt heavy in his mouth. 'Stop them all. Wait until we understand better what the consequences truly are.'
Jankol stopped his mending. He puckered his lips and looked at Astron through squinted eyes. 'What you say is most strange. On one hand, you speak of the virtues of a device from another realm; on the other you entreat instead that such engines not be used. It is a behavior somewhat inconsistent for one truly from beyond the flame.'
Astron felt a sudden stab of panic. 'No, there is no inconsistency,' he answered quickly. 'You see it is merely a matter of, a matter of-' He tried to look Jankol squarely in the eye but when the words would not come, he turned his face aside. Scowling, he wished for Kestrel's quickness of thought.
Jankol waited a moment more, then drew his sword. He motioned for his lieutenants to fall in line beside him. 'I should have trusted my first instincts,' he said. 'What is the truth, strange one? Tell me why you and the long hair look so different from the rest we have seen.'
Astron looked quickly to his side at Phoebe slowly regaining her footing. Awkwardly he drew Kestrel's heavy sword and pointed it at the three who advanced at him with synchronized steps. He felt his chest tighten and the air come in short gulps.
But before Jankol and the others could engage, Astron saw one of the lieutenants falter and then fall out of step. The eyes of the reflective widened and he waved his sword arm in an exaggerated flourish off to the side. Jankol stopped uncertainly and then squinted all the more in Astron's direction. 'Your device still seems to disrupt the symmetries,' he said. 'We cannot engage you as one. It feels so very uncertain which are the correct steps to take.' He darted his eyes back to the oasis and then at a large blur moving in quickly over the horizon.
'First the battle.' He waved his own sword in Astron's direction. 'After the victory, I will return with others, dozens if need be, so that we will overwhelm you despite the tricks that you play.'
Without another word, he motioned his lieutenants to follow and ran with great effort through the loose sand in the direction of the pond.
For a moment, Astron watched them go. He glanced at what appeared to be a hurling mass of men drawing closer to the oasis and made up his mind. 'They will be back shortly,' he said to Phoebe. 'And even if they are not, I think we can little afford to wait for another stroke of the chime. You must act now. Perform your craft as never before.'
'What do you mean?' Phoebe frowned. 'I have told you more than once-'
'Forget what has happened.' Astron reached out and shook her by the shoulders. 'It is a characteristic of the realm. No one could have started a fire at the spot where we first arrived, not even the archimage himself. But now we are much closer to the center than we were before, perhaps close enough that the violation of symmetry caused by the flame will be small enough that it can be overcome. The origin itself would be better, but we cannot afford to wait.'
He paused and then reached out and squeezed Phoebe's hand. The thrill of the previous move suddenly surged anew, but he managed to push it aside. 'You are a wizard,' he said. 'A wizard as much as any other-but only if you practice your art.'
'The words of symmetry have no bearing, Kestrel.' Phoebe shook her head. 'I can feel the failure even before I begin.' She slumped her shoulders and began to sag back to the ground. 'There is no point to endure the frustration, no matter whatever else might come. I can imagine the laughs of my council as clearly as if they were here.'
Astron felt a sudden surge of anger and frustration well up within him. He almost choked over the intensity of the emotion. 'I do not care about your council,' he veiled. 'Put them from your mind.' He gulped air and rushed on. 'I have heard tales of the encounters with the great wizards, far more than you might guess. I know the characteristics of the ones who were successful, the ones who controlled the mightiest djinns. They did not care about the opinions of others. The practice of their craft was not for fame or good-standing with those who would be their peers.
'It was for themselves they struggled, Phoebe. The measure of success was against goals that were known by themselves alone. The reward was increased self-esteem-acceptance of their own true worth, not the fickle opinion of the lesser ones around them whom they did not choose to control. Think! Why do you want to be a wizard? So that you can be regarded as an equal-or know deep within yourself that you are unique and comparable to none?'
The oasis clock struck a third time. The sky began to shimmer as it had before and the iridescent lines stood out in a much bolder relief. Astron thought he could see faint images of gearworks at the nodes where they intersected and, with them, shadowy figures of men winding huge springs. Another wave of sand rushed at them from the oasis. This time he was more prepared and he pushed Phoebe to the ground before the wrenching jerk ripped away their footing.
As the wave passed, Astron felt a sudden blur of nausea. The trees of the oasis distorted in a blurring rush, as if one were somehow racing by them at a breakneck speed. The broken frame of the engine creaked and groaned where it had fallen. With lifelike spasms, the cracked beams and snapped leather thongs reached for one another, as if they were trying to mend. Some of the spewed flour arched upward from where it had struck the sands and cascaded back into canisters just before their Hds suddenly snapped shut. Astron felt another wave of disorientation. His thoughts slowed and then started off slowly in a direction that he did not understand. They bounced around his head like fragments from a language not quite his own. He could only sit stunned and wait for the feeling to pass.
Eventually, the firmness of the sands returned. Astron started to say more to Phoebe, but saw that already she was preparing to start a fire. Clutching a match tightly in her fist, with a sweeping stroke she ran it along the length of one of the rough-barked branches at her side.
The matchhead grated with the contact and then glowed red from the friction of passage but did not light.
'Better than before.' Astron shouted encouragement before she could speak. 'Better than before. You must try again.'
Phoebe grunted in reply. She grabbed three matches tightly together and with deliberate strength ground them against the wood. The heads sparked dully and then almost unexpectedly burst into a feebly smoky flame.
For an instant Phoebe's eyes widened in disbelief. Then she shook her head. 'Some kindling-here in the pouch.' She motioned with her free hand. 'Make a loose pile of it, Kestrel, before the matches burn out.'
Astron grabbed at the small pouch and pulled out dry needles and bits of string. He smoothed a depression in the sand and quickly constructed a fragile dome of small struts and spars. Shielding the delicate flicker of fire with her hand, Phoebe bent the matches to the kindling. She caught her breath waiting for the fire to grow.
Tendrils of smoke enveloped the needles and bits of bark. For a brief instant a small speck of tar began to glow red. But then the weak fire faltered and started to die. Helplessly, she watched each little tongue of flame grow dimmer and, in a final puff of smoke, wink out.
Phoebe fumbled for more matches. 'The last three.' She held out her hand. 'And I see no way that they can be any better than the rest.' She sighed and looked at Astron with tears forming in her eyes.
