World's End

Page 105

that the glistening water surface clings to the contours of the stone as it flows along the canyon bottom, defying gravity and all reason. The wonder and the beauty of it leave me astonished.

When I wake up, I must remember this. . . .

Goldbeard and his men lead me through the ruined town, along a rough path that follows the canyon's rim.

The heat is like something alive, riding my back. I stagger under its burden. The other quarters of the town dance and swim; they seem insubstantial as I look back at them across the chasm. I search for a familiar face, for any face-- There is almost no living being anywhere.

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Only a few ragged, shuffling wretches pass us by, never looking up. Some wear chains. "Where is everyone?"

"You'll see," one of the outlaws answers behind me.

From somewhere in the distance I hear a wail of agony or madness. He pushes me to make me walk faster.

Soon we have left the town behind, following the canyon toward the rim of the plateau. I begin to hear more voices in the distance. As we near the rim I see the gathering: Human forms waver in the heated air. A bizarre platform hung with gossamer flags floats above them; at first I think it is a mirage.

But it isn't. As we join the crowd at last 1 see the platform still adrift, hovering impossibly in the air above the cliff. Beside us the canyon ends, and the waterfall plunges over the scarp and down.

Rainbows ride on the clouds of steam that billow up below us. Fire Lake is bright like the surface of the sun.

On the silk-wreathed platform a strange pantomime is taking place. A woman stands there, cloaked in red/

gold brocaded cloth that gleams in the sun. She is like a mirror reflecting fire, like a vision.

Before her are three very mortal men, their hands bound behind them, roped

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together at the waist. They are arguing about something, denying some accusation, blaming each other. I realize

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JOAN D. VINGE

finally that the shining woman is there to pass judgment on them, like a priestess, or a queen. The crowd watches, murmuring its anticipation, until the three men have finished their protests.

Then, suddenly, Goldbeard shouts out, "What is the truth?"

The shining woman lifts her arms and stiffens like someone going into a trance. Her voice rises Page 106

eerily, filling the sudden silence that has fallen over the crowd. She speaks incoherently; her voice changes and changes again as it tries to contain a dozen other voices. At first nothing happens to the three men waiting before her.

But then suddenly the distortion of the heated air around them seems to intensify; the crowd cries out in ecstasy and terror.

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Reality tears apart and re-forms around me, in a split second of gut-wrenching vertigo.

A scream is echoing in my ears. My eyes are ^training to see, although I don't remember the instant when they didn't see--the instant when the three men on the platform became one and a half.

The man left alive stands motionless for a long moment, staring at the half a body still bound to his own.

And then he sits down, jibbering. A stream of red spills over the platform's edge.

I watch in wonder as the possessed woman comes out of her trance and sways forward to the pennant wreathed railing. She clings there a moment, gazing down at the outcome of her judgment. Her mouth pulls back in a smile of terrible satisfaction. Somehow, using some power I cannot imagine, she has done this thing to them.

She goes to the survivor and cuts him free with a knife. Then she straightens up again, shaking her fists in the air, and calls out in a trembling voice, "This is the truth!" The survivor half scrambles, half falls down the gossamer ladder that ties the platform to reality. He

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crawls away, disappearing into the crowd.

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WORLD S END

The woman stands at the rail, searching the crowd with her eyes. . . . And then suddenly she has found me.

She lowers her arm until it is pointing me out. It is as if she knew that I had come, as if she has staged this performance only for my sake: to show me her power.

"Bring me the captive!" she calls. I see her face clearly at last, and I gasp.

"She wants you," Goldbeard says, almost resignedly.

Of course she wants me. My heart leaps inside my empty chest. Goldbeard seizes my arm and pushes me forward through the crowd to the floating rope ladder, but now I am as eager as he is to reach the platform.

Somehow I climb, and he follows me. The pain in my shoulder is nothing; even the Lake, lying below the trembling, swaying rungs of the fragile ladder, is nothing

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