They waited quietly around the hill with the large tree, on the north side of Stardock Island. The rain had stopped, but a damp, cold wind blew, promising more rain shortly. Most of the community had come to see Pug, Dominic, and Meecham on their way. Katala stood next to Kulgan with her hands upon William’s shoulders. Gamina clutched tightly to Katala’s skirt, looking nervous and a little frightened.
Pug stood alone, consulting the scroll he had fashioned. A short way off, Meecham and Dominic waited, shivering against the cold, while they listened to Kasumi. He was intensively speaking of every detail of Tsurani custom and life he could recall that might prove important. He was constantly remembering details he had almost forgotten. The franklin held the travel bag Pug had prepared, containing the usual items a priest would carry. Also inside, under those items, were a few things uncommon to a priest on Kelewan, weapons and coins of metal, a fortune by Kelewanese standards.
Kulgan came to where Pug indicated, holding a staff fashioned by a woodcarver in the village. He planted it firmly in the soil, then took another handed to him and placed it four feet away. He stepped back as Pug began to read aloud from the scroll.
Between the staves a field of light grew, rainbow colors dancing up and down. A crackling noise could be heard, and the air began to smell as it did after a lightning strike, acrid and pungent.
The light began to expand and change in color, moving faster through the spectrum until it gleamed whitely. It grew in intensity until it was too bright to look upon. Still Pug’s voice droned on. Then came a loud explosion of noise, as if a thunderclap had pealed between the staves, and a short gust of wind toward the gap between them, as if a sudden drawing in of air had occurred.
Pug put away his scroll and all looked at what he had fashioned. A shimmering square of grey “nothingness” stood between the upright staves. Pug motioned to Dominic and said, “I’ll go through first. The rift is targeted to a glade behind my old estate, but it might have appeared elsewhere.”
If the environment proved hostile, he would have to step around the pole, entering it from the same side again, appearing back on Midkemia as if he had passed through a hoop. If he was able.
He turned and smiled at Katala and William. His son jiggled around nervously, but Katala’s reassuring pressure on the boy’s shoulders quieted him. She only nodded, her face composed.
Pug stepped into the rift and vanished. There was an audible intaking of breath at the sight, for only a few there knew what to expect. The following moments dragged on, and many unconsciously held their breath.
Suddenly Pug appeared from the other side of the rift and an audible sigh of relief came from those who waited. He came back to the others and said, “It opens exactly where I had hoped it would. Macros’s spellcraft was flawless.” He took Katala’s hands. “It is next to the reflecting pool in the meditation glade.”
Katala fought back the tears. She had tended flowers around that pool, where a solitary bench looked over calm waters, when she had been mistress of that great estate. She nodded understanding, and Pug embraced her, then William.
As Pug knelt before William, Gamina suddenly threw her arms around his neck. Be careful.
He hugged her in return. “I will, little one.” Pug motioned Dominic and Meecham to follow and walked through the rift. They hesitated the barest instant and followed him into the greyness.
The others stood watching for long minutes after the three had vanished, and the rain began again. No one wished to leave. Finally, as the rain took on a more insistent quality, Kulgan said, “Those set to watch, remain. The rest, back to work.” Everyone slowly moved off, no one resenting Kulgan’s sharp tone. They all shared his concern.
Yagu, chief gardener on the estate of Netoha, near the city of Ontoset, turned to find three strangers walking the path from the meditation glade to the great house. Two were priests of Hantukama, the Bringer of Blessed Health, though both were unusually tall for priests. Behind walked their begging slave, a captive barbarian giant from the late war. Yagu shuddered, for he was an ugly sort, with a horrible scar down his left cheek. In a culture of warriors, Yagu was a gentle man, preferring the company of his flowers and plants to that of men who spoke only of warfare and honor. Still, he had a duty to his master’s house and approached the three strangers.
When they saw him coming, they halted, and Yagu bowed first, as he was initiating the conversation—common courtesy until rank was established. “Greetings, honored priests. It is Yagu the gardener who presumes to interrupt your journey.”