corner. He reached a hand through and stuck it into the daylight and air of the field. It did not wither or change color. He wiggled the fingers. They acted accordingly.
Behind, Leona called to him.
He started to turn, stumbled, and clutched out at the walls to support him. But there were no walls. He fell backwards into the field. He looked back at the door-like aperture through which he had come. He could see Leona standing naked in the room, looking perplexed-and beautiful. Then the door was gone
He stood and examined the air where the portal had been, waving his arms back and forth, hoping to encounter some invisible obstacle. There was none. The door was lost to him.
How long would it be until he woke from the PBT dreams-for this was surely a dream?
He felt very weary. Did that mean the dream would soon end and he would find himself back in the room with the others? He stretched out on the cool, green grass and fell swiftly into sleep
Sleeping in a dream?
He was wakened by a woman's hands on his forehead. She was dressed in cotton and burlap with a gypsy hairband holding back her gray hair to keep it out of her eyes. The Sorceress Kell
And as the days wore on, the realization came that the crack had been more than a simple delusion. With the overdose of PBT, he had somehow opened a psychic doorway between the dimension? time lines? probabilities?-and was now a long, long way from home in a land where the Great Fire was well-remembered, in a land where the nuclear holocaust had happened a century or so earlier and where life had changed in its aftermath,..
Chapter Four: THE CRIMSON WITCH
She settled through the last whisps of the storm's hair, the breezes fluffing her red robes behind her in the darkness, tickling her pretty face and dancing across the sleekness of her body. She stirred the air with her passage, making the thunder to go mute and the lightning to lose its ferocity so that they would not alert her prey to her coming. She alighted in a small copse to the left of the spot where the man and the dragon lay sleeping, head to head, the man with his feet braced against an outcropping of stone. Dropping to her hands and knees, she wound her way through the brush until she had reached a point from which she could watch her prey unobserved. They both were sleeping soundly only fifty feet from the lip of the gorge.
The man's face was turned toward her, and she could not help but marvel at the blond mane and the way it fell so much like the mane of a wild animal, the way it framed his square, handsome face, his thin and cruel, yet somehow beautiful lips.
She shook herself back into hatred, casting out the sentimentality.
He had used her!
She shifted her weight from one knee to the other, squinted her eyes, and mumbled the proper phrases to enact her Talents and get her magics into opera-don. She could not affect him directly, for she had tried and failed. Though he was not a Talented, he was somehow immune to her Talents. But perhaps she could stir the elements and affect him indirectly
She reached out and grasped the air with her Talents, toying with it, getting the feel of it, letting it run through her mental fingers and wet her mental palms. The air washed her. She lifted her real arms and hands to it in supplication and in demand. It threaded her fingers and wrapped into eddying pools in the cups of her hands.
The wind babbled to her.
The wind obeyed her.
She caused the air to grow heavy above her head, to pile and pile on dark layer after dark layer, to compress into the small volume of space. Then, gently nudging it with her magics, she began to shuffle the layers, mixing and shuffling, making the wind ever stronger. Still, she contained it. She used some more of her magics to build a shield about it so that it could go nowhere, so that the
Behind, Leona called to him.
He started to turn, stumbled, and clutched out at the walls to support him. But there were no walls. He fell backwards into the field. He looked back at the door-like aperture through which he had come. He could see Leona standing naked in the room, looking perplexed-and beautiful. Then the door was gone
He stood and examined the air where the portal had been, waving his arms back and forth, hoping to encounter some invisible obstacle. There was none. The door was lost to him.
How long would it be until he woke from the PBT dreams-for this was surely a dream?
He felt very weary. Did that mean the dream would soon end and he would find himself back in the room with the others? He stretched out on the cool, green grass and fell swiftly into sleep
Sleeping in a dream?
He was wakened by a woman's hands on his forehead. She was dressed in cotton and burlap with a gypsy hairband holding back her gray hair to keep it out of her eyes. The Sorceress Kell
And as the days wore on, the realization came that the crack had been more than a simple delusion. With the overdose of PBT, he had somehow opened a psychic doorway between the dimension? time lines? probabilities?-and was now a long, long way from home in a land where the Great Fire was well-remembered, in a land where the nuclear holocaust had happened a century or so earlier and where life had changed in its aftermath,..
Chapter Four: THE CRIMSON WITCH
She settled through the last whisps of the storm's hair, the breezes fluffing her red robes behind her in the darkness, tickling her pretty face and dancing across the sleekness of her body. She stirred the air with her passage, making the thunder to go mute and the lightning to lose its ferocity so that they would not alert her prey to her coming. She alighted in a small copse to the left of the spot where the man and the dragon lay sleeping, head to head, the man with his feet braced against an outcropping of stone. Dropping to her hands and knees, she wound her way through the brush until she had reached a point from which she could watch her prey unobserved. They both were sleeping soundly only fifty feet from the lip of the gorge.
The man's face was turned toward her, and she could not help but marvel at the blond mane and the way it fell so much like the mane of a wild animal, the way it framed his square, handsome face, his thin and cruel, yet somehow beautiful lips.
She shook herself back into hatred, casting out the sentimentality.
He had used her!
She shifted her weight from one knee to the other, squinted her eyes, and mumbled the proper phrases to enact her Talents and get her magics into opera-don. She could not affect him directly, for she had tried and failed. Though he was not a Talented, he was somehow immune to her Talents. But perhaps she could stir the elements and affect him indirectly
She reached out and grasped the air with her Talents, toying with it, getting the feel of it, letting it run through her mental fingers and wet her mental palms. The air washed her. She lifted her real arms and hands to it in supplication and in demand. It threaded her fingers and wrapped into eddying pools in the cups of her hands.
The wind babbled to her.
The wind obeyed her.
She caused the air to grow heavy above her head, to pile and pile on dark layer after dark layer, to compress into the small volume of space. Then, gently nudging it with her magics, she began to shuffle the layers, mixing and shuffling, making the wind ever stronger. Still, she contained it. She used some more of her magics to build a shield about it so that it could go nowhere, so that the
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