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animal. It stood off in the darkness and made similar sounds back at the Dwarf, but not receiving
the appropriate reply, it eventually wandered off. Arrowsmith meanwhile felt as though a part of
himself had left, and he did not know if it was ever coming back. He felt like some sort of
machine left on, but without anyone to tell him what to do. He simply sat and waited for dawn.
When it came, he ate breakfast and packed, but there was no emotion within him. Everything had
been replaced by an intense desire to get to the City as soon as possible. It was barely daybreak
when he and Hemas once more got on the bike and headed east.
They stopped once to make lunch and let Hemas stretch his legs. Arrowsmith still felt like an
empty vessel, waiting for something to be poured into him. Hemas tried to make conversation a
few times, but Arrowsmith felt unable to respond, and when he did say the occasional word or
two, it was as though someone else was making him speak. Finally, they got back onto the bike
and rode off.
It was late afternoon, and the sky was a beautiful canopy of gold and pink, and the sun was
sinking when they first set eyes on the City. The ground had become uneven, and the road
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snaked over and around many small hills and knolls. Finally, at the crest of a hill larger than
most of the others, they stopped.
The City lay before them, a mass of buildings and houses, all corralled in by a high wall, shining
white like the one around Two-Fifty-Mile-House. Most of the roofs they could see boasted tall
spires, a few even showed banners of differing colors. It was not a large city, and from where
Arrowsmith sat, he could see that it was carefully laid out in an orderly fashion. However the one
part of the town that he could not figure out was the far end. Where the rest of the city was laid
out to make the best use of space, this part had been left unsettled, as though to make room for
another building. The open space was almost eerie in appearance: carefully maintained and
framed by little white borders. Behind it were little gardens, set up as though to attach to
something that just wasn't there. It was strange enough that Arrowsmith actually managed to
shake off his feeling of detachment.
He glanced over his shoulder at Hemas. "Is that where the palace sits?"
He nodded. "Yes. That is where it will be when it rises again."
Arrowsmith turned his brown eyes to the city again. A shiver ran through him, and he lowered
his head, taking in a deep breath.
"Hemas, you'd better get off and walk into the City from here."
"Be glad to. Where are you going?"
"To the far end of the City, where the open patch is. I'm going to sit there for a while."
Hemas got off of the bike, taking his meagre bundle of belongings with him. He stood before
Arrowsmith, looking into his face. He shook his head grimly. "You look bad, boy. Maybe you
ought to come into the City with me. We can find a healer to look at you."
Arrowsmith shook his head. "I don't need a healer, I'll be fine. You go into the city, get yourself
a hot meal. I'll meet you later at the Red Rooster."
Hemas stared at Arrowsmith for a moment longer, then turned and headed for the tall gates of
White Palace, shaking his head. He paused to watch Arrowsmith drive down the little hill,
heading for the far wall. Then he kept walking towards the gate.
Arrowsmith reached the wall, stopping next to a small collection of aged trees. He turned off the
loud motor, caring nothing about whether or not anyone had heard him. He sat on the bike,
breathing. He was peaceful, calm, like a man who had finally reached the end of a quest that had
taken all of his life.
Arrowsmith slid down from the leather back of the bike onto the soft grass beneath a tree, asleep,
and yet more awake than he had ever been. The world was smeared and dark, as though he was
viewing it through a heavy mesh screen. The trees blew soundlessly in an unfelt breeze, and the
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grass swayed like the reeds at the bottom of a slow river. It was as though he was no longer a
part of the living world, having slipped into a strange dream that would not let him wake.
The memories seemed to come slowly, and in organized clusters, like old home movie reels. He
saw Palaklais, walked its streets, stared up at the tall buildings. He had not seen buildings like
this before, and he was frightened by them. But he would not let anyone see that. Men did not
show fear.
The images sped up, and he saw himself living and growing old in the great city. He spent his
years with the Wizard, Hercandoloff, a nice enough fellow but undersized, and he had a wife he
couldn't keep in line. He actually let her run his armies...
Palaklais fell. They moved out of the mountains. Now they were all young again, and he was
someone different. He had no real idea how that had happened, but the Wizard had done it, he
knew that much. He always meant to ask him about it, but it sounded too much like the work of
the Devil. He had no urge to know about the workings of the Devil. Back home, this little fellow
and his sword-waving wild woman would have been burned at the stake. And that little thief he
kept, the one who cavorted with men... there wasn't a dungeon deep enough for that heretic.
Worse, he had obviously been putting some sort of evil spell on him, because he was actually
beginning to find him attractive.
The memories wavered, then ceased, as though the film on the projector had torn. Arrowsmith
had the strange feeling that someone was coming. He was standing on the grass next to his own
limp form, but for some reason he did not find that upsetting. He awaited whomever was
coming, excited and unafraid.
He saw them appear out of the gloom around him. There were eight of them, all very familiar.
They were him; or rather they were the representations of his former lives. He was pretty glad to
see most of them. Well, numbers one and two he could have lived without seeing again, but the
others he liked well enough. Especially Number Eight. He'd been a handsome lad in his last life.
"Who am I?" he asked the assembled group. "Why am I here?"
"Those are big questions, John Arrowsmith," said his former self. The tall, well-dressed man
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