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burning imprints in the carpet, eyes as deep as pools of oil, the pitchfork, the satin-lined cape, the
hairy legs of a goat, talons. He tried to scream but the sound dammed up in his throat.
No, Snake said, that is not so. Come with me, and you will understand.
There was a tone of sadness in the voice. As though Satan had been sorely wronged. Stack
shook his head violently.
There was no time for argument. The moment had come, and Dira could not hesitate. He
gestured and Nathan Stack rose from the pneumatic chair, leaving behind something that looked like
Nathan Stack asleep, and he walked to Dira and Snake took him by the hand and they passed
through rose quartz and went away from there.
Down and down Snake took him.
The Mother was in pain. She had been sick for eons, but it had reached the point where
Snake knew it would be terminal, and the Mother knew it, too. But she would hide her child, she
would intercede in her own behalf and hide him away deep in her bosom where no one, not even the
mad one, could find him.
Dira took Stack to Hell.
It was a fine place.
Warm and safe and far from the probing of mad ones.
And the sickness raged on unchecked. Nations crumbled, the oceans boiled and then grew
cold and filmed over with scum, the air became thick with dust and killing vapors, flesh ran like oil,
the skies grew dark, the sun blurred and became dull. The Earth moaned.
The plants suffered and consumed themselves, beasts became crippled and went mad, trees
burst into flame and from their ashes rose glass shapes that shattered in the wind. The Earth was
dying; a long, slow, painful death.
In the center of the Earth, in the fine place, Nathan Stack slept. Don’t leave me with
strangers.
Overhead, far away against the stars, the Deathbird circled and circled, waiting for the word.
18
When they reached the highest peak, Nathan Stack looked across through the terrible
burning cold and the ferocious grittiness of the demon wind and saw the sanctuary of always, the
cathedral of forever, the pillar of remembrance, the haven of perfection, the pyramid of blessings,
the toyshop of creation, the vault of deliverance, the monument of longing, the receptacle of
thoughts, the maze of wonder, the catafalque of despair, the podium of pronouncements and the kiln
of last attempts.
On a slope that rose to a star pinnacle, he saw the home of the one who dwelled here--lights
flashing and flickering, lights that could be seen far off across the deserted face of the planet--and he
began to suspect the name of the resident.
Suddenly everything went red for Nathan Stack. As though a filter had been dropped over
his eyes, the black sky, the flickering lights, the rocks that formed the great plateau on which they
stood, even Snake became red, and with the color came pain. Terrible pain that burned through
every channel of Stack’s body, as though his blood had been set afire. He screamed and fell to his
knees, the pain crackling through his brain, following every nerve and blood vessel and ganglion
and neural track. His skull flamed.
Fight him, Snake said. Fight him!
I can’t, screamed silently through Stack’s mind, the pain too great even to speak. Fire licked
and leaped and he felt the delicate tissue of thought shriveling. He tried to focus his thoughts on ice.
He clutched for salvation at ice, chunks of ice, mountains of ice, swimming icebergs of ice half-
buried in frozen water, even as his soul smoked and smoldered. Ice! He thought of millions of
