"Actually," Logan said, "I came to give you this."
The Smythe inspected the massive gem closely, his dark eyes flashing. "This? This?" he quipped. "What's this, then? An egg?"
"It's the Jewel of Equilibrant," explained Logan.
"No, it's an egg," the Smythe insisted. "A giant Cosmic egg that will hatch and give birth to a whole universe."
"You mean it's capable of doing that?" the young man exclaimed, hoping he had interpreted the wizard's allegory correctly.
The gaunt Smythe began to flap his arms about in birdlike fashion. "It must have come from the huge Star Gull, a bird that nests in the suns themselves." An odd expression suddenly screwed up the spellcaster's face. "No, no, that's not right. This is the Jewel! That's it! The Jewel? Oh, the powers inside this egg-Jewel! No! It's a woman's breast! Yes! Feel how smooth it is, how round and firm. But she has no nipple! Yaaaaagh! Deformity! Freak! Outcast! Unclean!"
Spellcasters were strange, Logan decided, eyeing the Smythe with uncertainity. No wonder the man liked to hide in the Hills-he reminded Logan of men like Salvador Dali on his own world.
"It seems to be leaking energy," Logan went on. "My friends suggested I bring it to you."
The gaunt Smythe stopped his wild prancing and screaming and glared at the young man. "Leaking?" he repeated. "Leaking? Oh, yes, this is very serious. Very serious indeed. What makes you do that?"
"Excuse me?"
"What makes you dance around in circles while you have intercourse with the moons?" the magician queried.
What the hell did he mean by that? Logan thought, trying to decipher the spellcaster's odd choice of words. Oh, wait a minute! Replace "dancing in circles" with "being lost," and "intercourse with the moons" with "fucking things up," and the phrase made a little bit more sense.
"I'm not a spellcaster," Logan answered. "I can't stop it from leaking."
"I see," nodded the lean wizard. "I see. I am seeing. I shall see. I saw. I have seen. I had saw. Look out! Deformity! Freak! Outcast! Unclean!" He paused a moment, squinting at Logan. "What do you want?" he suddenly demanded.
Looks like you can't hide anything from this guy, Logan noted. "I want to go back to my world."
The sorcerer's eyes flared. "You have a world? So have I. What is yours?"
"Earth," declared Logan. "I want to go back to Earth."
"My world is Grobolobo. Your world is Earth. Our world is GroboloboEarth."
"Do you think you can send me back?"
The Smythe stroked his beard. "Did you create your world?"
"Huh?" Logan wondered. "I'm sorry, but…"
"I created mine. Do you know where Grobolobo is? It's under that rock, and death comes every nightfall." The wizard abruptly shook his head violently, as if clearing the cobwebs from his brain. "Sorry, sorry. Check Jewel; send back. Yes, I have it. You must understand, I find it quite difficult to grow Bloodpetals." He handed the golden Jewel back to Logan. "Do you comprehend?"
The young man ran a hand through his hair, trying to formulate an answer. Unexpectedly, the spellcaster wheeled on the shimmering orb behind him. "Girl!" he yelled. "A girl is without!" He ran his hands lovingly over the orb. "Ooooooh, soft! So soft. But no nipple! Yaaaaaaagh! Deformity! Freak! Outcast! Unclean!"
"Girl?" echoed Logan. "There's a girl outside?"
The hope still ablaze inside him, Logan scrambled out of the cavern. Rounding a corner, glinting silver almost tore into his neck and a fist rammed into his jaw. Logan fell to the ground, stunned, the Hills spiraling around him. Someone was saying his name, but he could not tell who. It wasn't until soft hands helped him off the ground that Logan stared into Cyrene's deep blue eyes.
"Matthew," the blonde smiled brightly, "I didn't think I'd see you again. I tried so hard to think of a way to free you from Farkarrez, then I ran into Mediyan's Guards, and…"
"I know! I know!" Logan interrupted, regaining his senses and his excitement. "But I did it! I found him! I found the Smythe!" Eagerly, he pulled the blonde into the cavern, a grin drawn across his features. When they entered the stone chamber, Logan could not help but grin wider as the gaunt spellcaster looked up at them. His smile faltered when he noticed the terror in Cyrene's lovely eyes.
"Matthew!" she cried. "That's not the Smythe! It's Zack-aron!"
•13• Mistakes
"Matthew!" Cyrene cried. "That's not the Smythe! It's Zackaron!"
Logan's initial reaction was to run… to simply turn about and rush out of the narrow corridor of stone. But the wildness in Zackaron's dark eyes also flared with a power beyond comprehension-a power that had driven even its user insane. How could Logan hope to flee a man who could destroy then recreate him on the spot? Zackaron reigned over nature itself with his madness, and Logan began to understand the abnormal wind of unbalance flowing from the spellcaster's home. The magician had the energies of his world at his fingertips, yet his mind was incapable of using them correctly.
Trying to shrug off the terror Cyrene radiated beside him, Logan faced the gaunt sorcerer. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I've made a terrible mistake. I didn't mean to give you this egg. I was going to bring you clay."
Zackaron's eyes expanded in excitement. "Clay? Clay?" he parroted. "Excellent! Have you ever built with clay?"
Logan casually replaced the Jewel in his horse's saddlebag and took hold of the reins. "Actually, I have," he answered the wizard. "It's quite good. Especially for making things."
The lean magic-user nodded his head enthusiastically. "Yes! Yes! Make things, I do! Make things! But pity! Pity me! So many are wrong! So many mistakes!"
Logan was almost intrigued to stay and listen to the rantings of the wizard. What kind of things did Zackaron attempt to make from clay? the young man wondered. His powers made anything possible, but his mind would cause major drawbacks in any creation. No wonder Zackaron was so opposed to deformity!
The mindless spellcaster stepped toward Logan, and Cyrene stiffened as the dark eyes locked upon her. "Did you make her?" the sorcerer queried, his eyes aglow with appreciation.
"No, I didn't," responded Logan, "but I can get you some clay so you can make something like her."
Zackaron's face lit up. "Can you?" he cried, almost childlike. "Do so! So do!"
Nodding in reply, Logan backed out of the cavern, taking Cyrene and his horse with him. He could still hear Zackaron chortling from inside as he mounted up and pulled Cyrene behind him. Fear had stolen Cyrene's voice from her as Logan started his horse forward, thanking whatever had caused Zackaron to return the Jewel to him.
Darker clouds began to populate the sky as the yellow-and-green horse trekked through the Hills. Logan was slightly unsettled by Cyrene's silence-wishing their reunion could have been a little bit more romantic-but remained quiet himself as his horse rode on. The blonde's arms locked tightly about his waist served to quell some of the desires boiling within, but Logan felt cheated that the girl had not even praised him for his marvelous escapes. She did like him, didn't she? Why wasn't she as giddy over his good fortune as he was? Oh, well, the shock of bumping into a man with enough power to reconstruct the universe and with hardly enough common sense to feed himself might send anybody into a state of silence,
A confident smirk drawn on his face, Logan glanced down at the saddlebag hiding the Jewel. His heart almost leapt into his throat as he saw the golden rays leaking from the leather sack. The persistent mismatchment had gotten so strong it no longer warned him when the Jewel was acting up. It probably would not have triggered any warning in Logan until after the Jewel's glare signaled the danger itself.
"Cyrene," Logan whispered, "I think we're in trouble."
The blonde behind him moved to peer over his shoulder but still said nothing.
"The Jewel's glowing," he explained, and her arms tightened about his waist. "It might be about to discharge again."
Logan gazed up at the darkening clouds apprehensively and a knot formed in his stomach. The increased buzz of disharmony
had really torn away his usual defenses, he realized. He had no idea if those black clouds looming above him were natural or unnatural-but the yellowish light seeping from his saddlebags indicated it was the latter.
A stifled shriek ripped through Cyrene's lips, and Logan pulled his eyes away from the clouds. A blur of pink caught his attention, but whatever had made it had swerved out of sight. Logan questioningly glanced over his shoulder at Cyrene, but the blonde still refused to speak. Her eyes were wide, fixed in the direction of the pinkish flash, yet no explanation came from her lips.
There was a hellish screech from the mountains, and a throng of creatures swarmed down the hillsides. Their distorted limbs flailed in the air, and bleary eyes reflected the Jewel's golden glare. Logan was so horrified he accidentally drew in the reins, and the stallion stood where it was while the cluster of monsters rushed closer.
Humanlike in shape, the creatures loped down the sloping hillsides. Gnarled limbs-some too short, others too long-sent dirt spraying into the air, and thick streams of saliva oozed from the contorted mouths and misshapen teeth. One of the beasts scuttling down the mountainside was nothing more than a deformed head perched atop an outstretched hand, while another was the upper torso of a man that gradually turned serpentine. Another monstrosity flailed four arms at the cloudy sky, its many disproportioned fingers clenching into warped fists.
Somewhere, from maybe a million miles away, there was a voice calling to Logan.
"Matthew! Matthew! Get us out of here!"
Fingers shook Logan awake as the perversions of nature neared. Drawing himself away from the terror charging him, Logan blinked his eyes and felt Cyrene's breath upon his neck.
"Matthew!" she screamed. "Let's go! Please!"
With a silent glimpse back at the nearing deformities, Logan rammed his Nikes into his horse's flanks and bolted forward. Enraged screams pursued the pair, their horse galloping headlong across the mountains. A growl of thunder exploded from the black clouds above as the aureate flame of the Jewel brightened. The Jewel! Logan's mind shouted. Those things sensed the Jewel-like that Demon did! They wanted it!
Cyrene screamed and Logan almost pitched off his horse as the green-and-yellow stallion skidded to a halt, stopping precariously close to a cliff. A sheer drop angled before them, and boulders cracked and fragmented like egg shells lined the bottom. The earthquake must have utterly destroyed this hillside, Logan mused. What must have been a level path around the mountain was now interrupted by a fearful drop of some hundred feet. Frantically, Logan looked right, then left. The right offered a level route yet betrayed an aura of possible rockslides or unexpected drops. The left, however, slanted upward, and Logan knew his horse would be unable to make the climb carrying two riders.
Swiftly, he dismounted and motioned for Cyrene to do the same.
"Take the horse up," he commanded, withdrawing his sword. "I'll cover our backs."
The blonde paused a moment before snatching up the reins and beginning the difficult ascent. Logan trailed, dangerously scaling the mountain backwards as he went. It did not take long before the screeching distortions of men burst into sight, their malformed limbs slashing the mountain air. Cyrene's breathing quickened as fear coursed through her sjim frame, and her climbing became erratic, making her stumble more as she fought the slanting hillside. Like fluid, Cyrene's fear flowed down to Logan, and beads of perspiration dotted his brow as he gazed down at the mockeries below him.
Scuttling like twisted crabs of flesh, the swarm of deformities followed after the couple. Lust burned in their blurry eyes. Perhaps they thought the Jewel would return them to normal, like Logan had tried to persuade Farkarrez into believing, but what in the world could have mutated people into the crawling monsters that shrieked beneath him?
Logan paled and almost swooned as the realization struck him. Zackaron had not been mindlessly rambling when he had mentioned his creations. The things scrabbling and clawing their way toward Logan were Zackaron's. These were the wizard's deformities, his freaks and outcasts. And now they had come out of hiding in the hopes of attaining the Jewel.
Blue-white lightning ripped through the clouds, bathing the Hills with its electrical glare. The man-things cowered in the bluish flash but then their greed returned, and their twisted limbs helped them scrabble higher.
Breathing heavily, Logan reached a small, level cliff and directed Cyrene to run eastward along the narrow ledge. There was a sudden snarl from above him, and Logan toppled. Pain raked the young man's back as he somersaulted down the sloping hill, a hideously large, doglike beast snapping at his neck. Disgust swirled in Logan's belly as he completed his roll halfway down the hill and gripped the muzzle of the monster facing him. It was a hairless dog, he saw, and his stomach heaved in revulsion at the misshapen canine eagerly slobbering for his blood. Fear accompanied that sickness as Logan noted the sudden shock of the attack had knocked his sword out of his hand.
"Cyrene!" he choked, struggling to keep the disfigured snout and teeth away from his neck.
The herd of "mistakes" climbed nearer, their gibberish ringing in Logan's ears.
The winds picked up as the black clouds roiled and churned like angry waves. Cyrene stopped upon the ledge, glancing back down at the struggling forms. Her skirt billowed about her legs as the moaning gale whipped around her, and quick fingers pulled free the dagger at her thigh. The turbulent air shrieked as the blade rocketed forward and lodged in the dog-thing's neck. Black, putrid blood splattered Logan's face as the monster he battled jerked, a warbling howl tearing through its throat. With a violent heave, Logan sent the quivering monstrosity down the slope, knocking the twitching corpse into the cluster of mispro-portioned beings. Desperately, the young man pulled himself to his feet and resumed his hurried climb up the rocky face. The winds sent dirt spiraling into the darkened sky, and Logan's contacts ached as he struggled to reach the ledge once again. Another quarrel of blue-white lightning split the sky, and thunder shook the mountains. A tremendous voice unexpectedly tore through the clouds, and, so deafened by the noise, Logan was almost sent tumbling down the hillside once more.
"MY JEWEL!" the firmament boomed.
Oh, great, Logan sneered. Zackaron finally recognized the Jewel for what it was!
Helped onto the ledge by Cyrene, Logan noticed the thunderous voice had proven some good. So terrified by their creator's cry, the hideous man-things charged recklessly back down the mountainside and ducked into concealment, forgetting all about Logan and the hope his cargo had ignited.
Nervous that the insane spellcaster may appear, Logan leapt onto his horse and pulled up Cyrene. The ledge they were on was narrow, and possibly weak, yet the enraged cry of Zackaron had even sent waves of terror rushing through Logan's mount.
The yellow-and-green horse swiftly skirted the edge of the mountain path and galloped across the rim. To Logan's right was the dizzying drop that awaited them should the horse falter or stumble; to their left was the mountain wall with its jutting rocks that threatened to extend too far and knock both horse and riders from its face. Fortune, however, no matter how fickle she was, decided to accompany Logan, and the stallion soon reached a wider path that sloped between this mountain and a second one. It was not long before the threat of falling diminished, but the possibility of other earthquake-made drops lingered in Logan's mind.
"What in Agellic's name were those things?" breathed Cyrene, the fear still coating her voice.
"Zackaron's 'mistakes,' " the young man replied. "At least my mistakes aren't that bad!" he added, sarcastically. "I only steal Cosmic Jewels and mistake insane wizards for the Smythe! Some mistakes, huh?"
Cyrene saw nothing funny in Logan's humor and went silent once more. If they aren't Reakthi, Cyrene became somewhat timid in battle, Logan noted. Like Moknay, she showed a certain fear toward magic. She was no warrior-woman-thank God! Macho females were as bad as macho males! Although she did tend to take on such tendencies when their foes were Reakthi, a smile sud
denly crossed Logan's lips; she did, he recalled, let me be on top!
No sun dangled in the black, foreboding sky, yet the clouds continued to darken. Logan cursed his glimmering watch when he wondered what time it was but guessed it was nearing late evening. Zackaron's "mistakes" were some two miles behind perhaps, if not directly, then in a roundabout way, and that made Farkarrez's men and Eldath's troop a good four miles back. Still, Zackaron, Logan worried, was a spellcaster, and he could be anywhere he wanted to be in mere seconds. Hopefully, his insanity would keep him from tracking down the couple and disposing of them.
Skidding down a somewhat treacherous slope, Logan and Cyrene led the yellow-and-green mount to a stone-encircled plateau. Sparse patches of grass sprang up from between broken stones, and two gnarled trees leaned in the strengthening gale. The purple-black clouds overhead roiled eastward, flickering tongues of blue-white electricity crackling within. Pursued by Reakthi, Guards, and Zackaron, Logan still found his eyes straying to Cyrene's flapping dress and billowing dark blonde hair as she stood upon the clearing.
"Where are we?" she questioned, looking out at the darkened Hills.
"Beats me," Logan replied, wishing he hadn't phrased it in quite such a manner. "I haven't known where I was since I first entered these stupid Hills! I figure we can rest here, though."
"Not all night!" the blonde cried.
Logan frowned at her fear. "Of course all night!" he answered. "It's too damn dangerous to travel these mountains at night. We're riding a horse, not a…" He fumbled for what Eldath had said. "… bearded peakgoat."
Disheveled by the wind, Cyrene nodded and sat down. Logan sat across from her as the darkness crept in, almost hiding the young blonde in its black tendrils.
Hooves rent the stillness, and Logan grasped Moknay's dagger protectively. Cyrene's own hand went to her sheath, but her dagger was gone, lodged in the throat of Zackaron's dog. She watched Logan as the resounding hoofbeats grew louder, and dark horses crested the rim of their plateau. A whispered curse escaped Logan's lips as he made out the Guardsmen's uniforms of the pair seated upon their mounts.
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